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'I Often Wonder if His Toes are Not Cold" 

(See Page 41) 




TENANTS OF 
THE TREES 



By 



CLARENCE HAWKES 




^v-v.-^'" 



I 
and Company (Incorporated) \^ 



Copyright, 1907. by L. C. Page ' - \ 



^ S)!^ 




Copyright. 1921. by 
George W. Jacobs &. Company 



jill rights reserved 
Printed in U. S. A. 



OCT V:^\^-l\ 



©CLA830686 



^\A^ I 




Dedicated to 
That brave little herald of Spring, 

©li? Itobirb 

Whose slight, sweet song gladdens us in 
lulls of the March gale, bidding us be of good 
cheer, and telling us Spring will come again. 



INTRODUCTION 

TT is a human sign of significance and 
-*■ saving grace, that in these days, when 
the strain of commercial conditions is al- 
most unendurable, every form of art is dig- 
ging deep in the search for the roots of 
primal things. No dance is so alluring 
and so loved as the nature interpretation. 
No picture is so prized as the one that 
faithfully portrays nature, and human na- 
ture. The closer music comes to reproduc- 
ing wild notes, the finer it is accounted, the 
stronger its appeal to the heart. Above all 
other forms of art the book that is true to 
field and wood, to the impulse of the 
beast, and the heart of humanity, is trea- 
sured, is truly great. 



Cenants of tU Crees 

I have read all the writings of Clarence 
Hawkes and indorse them as honest and 
sincere work, which I found informing, and 
of dramatic interest, up to the publication 
of Mr. Hawkes' own story of his life, Hit- 
ting the Dark Trail. Since reading that, 
I touch his books with reverence and read 
with a feeling of awe in my heart. I wish 
that some way might be devised to put this 
book into the hands, and heads, and hearts, 
of every boy and girl in the world, as a 
lesson and an inspiration. 

How Mr. Hawkes does it I do not know, 
but he does describe nature sympathetically 
and accurately; His animals are not human- 
ized, he has the wisdom to recognize that 
the processes of nature are distinctly cold- 
blooded, everywhere the stronger preying 
upon the weaker, so he always keeps his 
values true. Writing from the head, he 
does not fall into the deep, wide pit that 



InttoDuction 

traps so many natural historians when they 
attempt to put a sane interpretation upon 
what they see, and so humanize both bird 
and beast. 

All the birds and animals I know are 
distinctly better when living in accordance 
with their own natures, than they would be 
if following ours. This fact Mr. Hawkes 
recognizes, and consistently reveals in his 
books. Higher praise it would be difficult 
for any nature writer to earn. 

Gene Stratton Porter. 

Limberlost Cabin, 
Indiana, 




^Ithi^e^-^, 




CONTENTS 

I. Where I Studied Woodcraft . 

11. The Harbinger of Spring 

III. More Early Comers 

IV. Little Homes in the Leaves . 
V. Sling-shot Time 

VI. A Starlight Tragedy 

VII. Much Ado About Nothing . 

VIII. Chatterbox's Mistake 

IX. The Little Mocking Bird 

X. A Gentleman in Black . 

XI. Peter's Good Fortune 

XII. Fur That Flew 

XIII. Friends in Need 

XIV. The Bird Hotel 
XV. The Furry Prophet 

XVI. How the BuII-frog Got His Suit 

XVII. The Long, Long Trail . 

XVIII. The Adventures of Chippy . 



PAGE 

3 

37 

49 

61 

73 

89 

103 

119 

131 

139 

159 

183 

199 

213 

219 

225 

237 

243 





LIST OF FULL-PAGE PLATES 

PAGB 

*'I often wonder if his toes are not cold" {See 

Page 41) Frontispiece 

"They had stood in a bunch, with their tails 

together" 28 

" Dangling a fat worm in his beak " . . . . 69 
" A woodcock whistled up through the alder 

bushes" 93 

" The weasel appeared, bringing the limp form of 

the Chatterbox with him " 127 

"He fell upon the would-be leader, beak and 

claw " 1 53 

" Down he came, as easily as a leaf " . . . 1 88 
" Here comes a flock of snow-birds "... 203 




Wf\m 3 i)tuti(eti a^ootjctaft 



/l^Y aviary is the good green wood, 

I would not cage its songsters if I could. 
Sweeter the song of one wild bird to me 
Than all the notes of sad captivity. 



®enant6 of tj)e ^ut& 



WHERE I STUDIED WOODCRAFT 

/^NE of the first external things that 
^^ flooded my childish consciousness, 
thrilling the awakening soul with a new 
joy, was the song of a robin, filling my 
little chamber with sweet melody, and 
causing the child in the crib to lie very 
still lest the minstrel be frightened away. 
He was on the old elm, that stood 
like a giant guardian just above the roof 
of the house. Its long low branches 
almost swept the shingles, and indeed, 
one could hear them brushing the roof 
on a windy night. 



4 Ztnuntu of ti)e Zvtm 

Cockrobin had builded his nest in the 
old elm, so near to the window that I 
could almost touch it with my hand. 
The last thing that I remembered at 
night, when the sleepy man came for me 
from over the slumbrous hills, was the 
tender twilight reverie of robin, and the 
first sound that broke upon my waking 
senses was his morning rhapsody. 

There were other songs too, even 
more bewitching than robin's, including 
the wonderful liquid notes of the oriole, 
and the gurgling of blithe bobolink 
down in the orchard, but robin lived so 
near to my trundle-bed that he seemed 
a part of my slumbers, and his song as 
much a prelude to slumber as mother's 
" Twilight Stories." 

My second passion, one that nearly 
every country child experiences, was for 
flowers and bouquets of all kinds. Some 



WLiitvt K StttJrielr TimoorttvaU 5 

of these bouquets were very primitive, 
consisting of buttercups, daisies, and dan- 
delions, all picked with such short stems 
that it was almost impossible to hold 
them in one's hand, and the shorter- 
stemmed ones were always falling out; 
but these bouquets were most satisfac- 
tory. The bright colours fascinated the 
eye, and if they were not fragrant, it 
only needed imagination of childhood to 
make them so. 

When a few more years had made the 
little legs sturdy, and the feet more sure 
of their footing, this passion carried us 
far afield, in search of the rarer wild 
flowers. 

Some we loved for their fragrance and 
beauty, while others held a personality 
that made them always interesting. 

Such was the jack-in-the-pulpit, who 
stood so straight in his pulpit, and 



6 Etnant^ of tije ^vu^ 

preached a sermon for every day in the 
week. 

When I was five years old, and had 
worn pants and a Garibaldi waist for at 
least a year (it seemed to me like ten), 
I put away childish things and became 
a man. 

The particular event that marked the 
change I shall always remember, for in 
reality it was a veritable crossing of the 
Rubicon, and the passion engendered on 
that warm summer morning has gone 
with me ever since. 

Over in the meadow, two stone's 
throw from the house, was a little brook 
where I went to play when I had 
leave. 

This morning I found a pin, longer 
and more pliable than its fellows, and 
the spirit of Isaac Walton awoke within 
me (the same Isaac that our fathers and 



Wi^tvt K Stttiffirlr WioorfttnU 7 

grandfathers have felt before us) on find- 
ing that pliable pin. 

It needed only a twine string and the 
butt of an old buggy whip to complete 
the outfit, and the young fisherman was 
ready for the brook. 

I could not hazard the risk of being 
told that I could not go down to the 
brook this morning, so took "French 
leave.*' This gave an added relish to 
the undertaking and made it seem almost 
like piracy. 

Do you wrinkled, care-worn old men, 
who have been making corns and bunions 
upon your feet for the past seventy years 
by wearing tight shoes, remember the 
joy of scuffing with bare feet, in the dew- 
laden grass? Do you remember how the 
dew sparkled and the fragrance rose from 
clover and buttercup, as you stirred 
them in their bed and sent showers of 



8 Etnuntn of tije ^vttu 

dew from their faces ? Oh, the thrill 
and the joy of it all ! It will not come 
again. You might take off your shoes 
and scuff in the dew now, but it would 
not be the same. The trouble is, your 
heart is no longer the heart of a boy. 

Over the brook was a quaint little stone 
bridge. The sunlight filtered down be- 
tween the stones, and fell upon the clear 
water beneath. Out in the open the sun- 
light was transparent and nearly colour- 
less, but down under the bridge, it was a 
shaft of burnished gold. How my heart 
thumped as I shook out the twine line 
and tossed the pin hook into the spark- 
ling brook. 

With what eagerness I watched it 
drift to and fro, and what a thrill it gave, 
each time the swirl caught the worm and 
tugged at the line. Then there was a 
flash of something bright through the 



water, a quick splash, and a tug at the 
line that was so sudden and unexpected 
that the young fisherman nearly lost his 
tackle, pole and all. But a moment 
later, he recovered his nerve, and dragged 
a beauty of a trout, flopping and jump- 
ing, on to the middle of the bridge. 

There was no more fishing that morn- 
ing, for with a whoop like a wild Indian, 
the small fisherman clutched his fish 
tightly in both hands and started for the 
house at his best pace, shouting as he 
went, " I've got a trout, Fve got a 
trout.*' 

The fish was not even taken from the 
pin hook, although he soon flopped him- 
self free. The fish-pole was trailed be- 
hind in the dust, in the excitement of 
the moment, and all but the prize was 
forgotten. 

The admonition not to go to the 



10 ^muni^ of tJie Exttu 

brook, had also been lost sight of, but 
it did not matter now he had caught 
his first trout. 

For half the forenoon, the boy sat 
on the door-step admiring the speckled 
beauty, with his wonderful deep green 
mottled back, and his red and yellow 
sides, and he was loath to part with him, 
even to let him go into the frypan for 
his dinner. This fish seemed almost too 
good to fry. He was the boy's first 
trout. 

This day marked an epoch in the life 
of the boy, for from that time a com- 
panionship with the little brook began, 
that he has never outgrown. Nothing, 
even now, rests the tired thought-racked 
brain, like the low plashing and purling 
of a tiny silver stream. 

Before the boy caught his first trout, 
he had been contented to wade in the 



shallows, and catch shiners in his palm- 
leaf hat, but this was too childish sport 
for him now. Shiners and pollywogs 
might do for children, but he must have 
fish-hooks, and a peeled alder pole, and 
fish for trout in the deep holes. There 
was no peace for his elders, until the 
fish-hook and line had been obtained, 
and the alder pole was of his own 
making. 

Then whenever there was a holiday, 
or an odd hour between light tasks that 
were his, the alder pole might be seen 
trailing behind the small boy, whose nim- 
ble legs were carrying him at their top 
pace, to the brook. 

His patience and natural love of fish- 
ing brought many kinds of fish to the 
willow stringer, that he carried in one 
hand. There were trout and dace, red 
fins and suckers, rock suckers and shiners. 



12 ^tn^ntn ot ti^t Evtt^ 

and once in a great while a horned pout, 
that had wandered far up stream from 
the distant pond. 

All the water grasses, reeds, and rushes 
he also knew. And the lilies that floated 
gracefully upon the current, supporting 
themselves by their broad leaves, and 
breathing their sweet breath upon the 
summer air. Then there was sweet-flag 
that was so spicy, when prepared with 
candied sugar, while the cattails made 
graceful wands or magic rods. 

Strange tracks there were, too, in the 
mud along the bank of the little stream, 
but the boy did not discover or under- 
stand them at the time. He learned 
later to know them all, and to tell a 
muskrat track from a mink track, and 
also to look for woodcock borings. 

The same summer that he learned to 
angle, he built a dam on the brook, and 



Wi^tvt K stulrfcir zimootrrtan i3 

made the water turn a small wheel for 
his amusement. This was a most inter- 
esting bit of machinery, and it lasted 
until the heavy fall rains, when the dam 
was swept away, and the water-wheel 
and the long spout that had conducted 
water to it went down-stream. 

The following year the boy's father 
took him to a distant deep hole and 
taught him to swim. Diving and swim- 
ming upon his back were accomplish- 
ments that he also learned, and after that 
the water had still more attraction for 
him, for he was then no longer afraid of 
it, where it ran deep and swift, as he had 
been before. 

A brook always seems to the nature 
lover like a living, moving thing. He 
loves to dabble his hand in it, and feel 
the rush of its current. Its touch is so 
soft, and its caress so refreshing. Then 



14 ^mantn of tfft Evun 

the brook is so moody, that it seems like 
a living spirit. Where the shadows of 
overhanging trees and bushes fall upon 
it, its own face is clouded and sad, but 
where the full sunlight falls, it gives 
back the very smile of heaven. 

Then in anger, when swollen by rain, 
it is majestically terrible — tossing, foam- 
ing, and roaring. 

But the brookside was only one of the 
many places where the boy learned of 
nature and her wondrous ways. 

There were long tramps over the hills 
to distant pasture-lands for berries during 
the summer season. 

I have seen blueberry lots where the 
wild bushes stood so near together, and 
were so loaded with their fruit, that the 
lot would look almost as blue as water at 
a little distance. Then along the edge 
of the woods among the pines, what 



giant blackberry bushes bowed under 
their load of delicious berries. Out on 
the bog meadow, where the muskrat 
builds his home by the ditch, there were 
plenty of cranberries, growing on their 
pretty vines down in the meadow moss. 

We boys quite frequently left the berry- 
picking to see if we could discover any 
of the tenants of the queer conical houses, 
which at a distance looked so much like 
haycocks. Or, if it were hot, as it was 
quite likely to be in the autumn, when 
we had a spell of Indian summer, we 
would go away into the deep woods be- 
yond the meadow to spy out chestnut 
and walnut trees, or possibly wild grapes. 

Bounteous stores there were in the 
woods, and we knew quite well where 
they were to be found. The dry knolls 
where the partridge-berries grew, and 
the lightning scarred spruce that had 



16 Ztnantu of ti^e ^vttu 

such stores of gum. Hemlock limbs we 
selected for bows, and a straight willowy 
ironwood did not go unnoticed, for 
when it was cut and peeled it made a 
glorious fish-pole. 

No country farmhouse is quite com- 
plete unless it is fortified against sun, 
wind, and rain, by a goodly array of 
shade-trees. I always keep a miniature 
of the farmhouse where I spent my child- 
hood, in a bright corner of my memory, 
and when tired of hustle and bustle, I 
retire to it for a quiet half-hour. 

The road at the front of the house 
was lined by a double row of maples, 
that spread their green grateful shade 
across the lawn in summer-time, and in 
autumn flung out their scarlet banners 
to the wind, and carpeted the green- 
sward with the most flaming Persian 
rugs. At the back of the house was a 



WLfitvt K Stttircelr smooHnan i7 

giant elm, that spread its broad branches 
in every direction, proclaiming shade and 
protection for all. 

The old elm was so strong and grace- 
ful, that it seemed a veritable monarch. 
Near the barn were two mountain-ashes, 
that shed their leaves early in the autumn, 
and as though to make up for this naked- 
ness, put on a garb of scarlet berries, that 
made them easily the brightest trees in 
the neighbourhood. 

The large apple orchard across the 
road carpeted the grass in the early days 
of May with its white petals until, under 
some trees, it looked as though there had 
been a snow-squall, but the petals of 
other trees were too pink to suggest 
snow, and almost bright enough to be rose 
petals. Blossoming cherry and plum- 
trees also helped steep the air with 
sweetness. 



18 JRtnunt^ oe tfie ffitnfif 

What a touch of life and hope there 
was in the morning wind as it came 
galloping over the billowing grass across 
the broad meadow, up to the little back 
porch where I had lugged the old-fash- 
ioned dasher churn, determined to get as 
cool a spot as possible for so warm a task. 

If the trees are the friends of men in 
the spring-time, so they are in the au- 
tumn, when they hang heavy with red 
and russet fruit, and cluster with brown 
obstinate nuts, that so long withstand 
clubbing and poling, but rattle down so 
easily at the touch of the first frost. 

There was always something doing in 
the trees, too, and that made them even 
more interesting. Perhaps it was a bird's 
nest, or a family of young robins learn- 
ing to fly. They might be peeping away 
with might and main, or perhaps they 
sat perfectly still and looked as though 



Wi^tvt K StttJrirtr WLoorntvaU 19 

they did not know what it all meant. 
Their short tails and round bodies always 
gave them a comical look. Sometimes 
there would be a great commotion in the 
trees, and loud calls for help. Then in- 
vestigation would disclose a mischievous 
red squirrel trying to rob a bird's nest, 
with both the old birds flying at him and 
pecking at his eyes. 

Sometimes a tree would be black with 
crows, all of whom were cawing as 
though shouting to the chairman for 
the floor. You might wonder for a long 
time what they were doing, but presently 
you would see a great brown owl, or a 
steely blue hawk, fly hastily out of the 
tree, and make for the woods with all 
speed, closely followed by the noisy pro- 
cession. 

The last week in April is fence-mend- 
ing time in the country, where they have 



20 Emant^ of tt)r Evttn 

brush fences. Then nature is beginning 
to unfold her secrets, and to tell the 
world that old, old story, that is yet new 
with each recurring spring. It is the 
stint of the boy to go with the hired 
man and cut small saplings for fence 
stakes, but he occasionally neglects his 
portion of the fence-mending to creep 
away into the woods after something 
more interesting. 

Perhaps he has heard a cock partridge 
drumming in the distance, and he wishes 
to creep up, and catch a glimpse of this 
wary bird upon his drumming log, with 
head erect and pompous as a drum major, 
sounding forth his thunderous roll-call 
of the woods. Or it may be that the chat- 
ter of a red squirrel in a distant thicket 
has whetted the boy*s curiosity ; or the 
calling of the crows may have suggested 
the possibility of locating a crow's nest, 



Wi^txt K StttlrieJf SHooHetatt 21 

which could be visited later on in the 
season, when the young crows are hatched 
out. 

Each season calls for a pilgrimage to 
the woods and each is as different as 
four acts of a drama. 

Summer-time gives us wealth of life. 
No matter where you go, life is creep- 
ing, crawling, stretching up to the light. 
Leaves, wild flowers, grasses, briars, and 
ferns all swell with life, and breathe it 
forth upon the fragrant air. 

But the season when one can find out 
most about the wild creatures in the 
woods, just how they live, and what they 
were doing last night, is winter. There 
are not as many birds or squirrels about 
then as in the warmer seasons, but each 
tells his life story in the soft snow when- 
ever he goes abroad. 

It was one of my keenest boyhood 



22 STenanti^ of tJie ^vttu 

delights to go far into the woods with 
the logging teams when the snow was 
deep, and see with my own eyes what 
was doing. 

We could almost always find a fox 
track near a little spring at the edge of 
the woods. The spring was a boisterous, 
bubbling vein of water, and did not like 
to cease its motion, even at the touch of 
Jack Frost. So on a warm day Mr. Fox 
could get a drink there, although he 
might have to eat snow during the ex- 
tremely cold snaps. 

Where the wood-road crossed a swampy 
bit of land and there were scrub spruces 
and a little laurel, we usually spied the 
triangular rabbit track, with its four paw 
prints in a bunch. The two by two's of 
the squirrel or weasel could be seen al- 
most anywhere, but the weasel's track 
was heavier than the squirrel's and you 



mUftvt K Stiitrlelr smooircvaft 23 

could occasionally notice where his belly- 
brushed the snow. 

A hole in the snow, with a lot of 
scraggly tracks about it, showed you 
where a partridge spent the night. Or 
there might be a fox track leading to 
the partridge's hiding-place ; then there 
were usually feathers and blood upon the 
snow. 

I saw a track one winter that puzzled 
me for a long time, but an old hunter 
finally told me what made it. The track 
was merely a succession of long trough- 
shaped holes scooped out in the snow, 
two or three feet apart. The old woods- 
man's eyes were sharper than mine, and 
he showed me where long fine hairs 
upon the creature's belly had brushed the 
snow between each track hole, and here 
and there a footprint where the hind 
paws had spurned the snow. 



24 JE^tnunt^ of tf^t STtrers 

It was an otter's track, and the snow 
was too deep for his short legs, so he 
travelled in a series of plunges, and this 
had made the queer track. 

A skunk makes something the same 
track in soft snow, only he is not lively 
enough even to jump, so his track is a 
shallow trough ploughed from bush to 
stump. 

Did you ever notice a partridge track 
running clear around a low bush ? If 
you will examine the ends of the twigs 
that are low down, you will find that the 
buds have been stripped from them, for 
the hungry partridge's supper. 

This only happens in exceptional sea- 
sons, for the partridge prefers to do his 
budding up in a tree out of the reach of 
cats and foxes. 

Another country experience that brings 
the boy near to nature is the maple sugar 



season. To stand in a maple sugar grove, 
where scores of trees are festooned with 
the brightly painted buckets, and hear 
half a hundred sap spouts ticking out 
their silver drip, drip, drip, is pleasant 
music. 

To boil sap at the lonely sugar camp 
is quite as delightful. There is the awe 
of a winter's night in the woods, when 
the moonbeams play pranks with trees 
and bushes, and people the dim ring at 
the edge of your lantern's light with 
phantoms and hobgoblins. The wind, 
too, is full of pranks, and delights to 
shriek, and moan, like an evil spirit, 
while the great limbs of the maples 
grinding together make uncanny sounds. 
All these things make a boy's blood 
tingle, and lend mystery and possible 
adventure to the night's work. 

The dry sugar wood snapping and 



26 s:enant!$ of tiie Evtm 

gleaming in the spacious arch sends out 
a cheerful, homelike light, and its wax- 
ing and waning help to make the night 
spectral. Then shrouded and hooded 
figures dance and wave their arms wildly 
in the clouds of steam that rise from the 
sap pan, while a screech-owl fills in the 
pauses between stories and songs with 
hair-raising laughter and shrieks. Even 
more ghostly than the graveyard scene in 
Hamlet, is a winter night in the woods. 

Like Hiawatha, I early learned the 
use of bow and arrow, but could not slay 
the roebuck, or even a chipmunk. The 
only thing I remember killing with either 
bow and arrow, or cross-gun, was a pine 
grosbeak, that a friend wanted to mount. 
But the big barn door and the gate-post 
suffered, and even the house bore arrow 
marks. There are scores of rude play- 
things that every country child knows 



how to make, that are quite as interest- 
ing as manufactured toys. Bows and 
arrows, sling-shots and darts, spears and 
lances, jumpers, and sleds, hoops, growl- 
ers, kites, and water-wheels. All these 
and many other simple devices, make 
the country boy's life quite as full and 
happy as that of the pampered, toy-laden 
city child. 

I was particularly fortunate in my 
companionship afield, for I enjoyed the 
confidence of two or three old woods- 
men, at whose heels I tramped the 
woods in spring, summer, autumn, and 
winter. 

Together we saw the wary partridge 
spring from cover on roaring wings, and 
speed away like an express train« The 
whistling wings of the woodcock did not 
give us such a start, and as he flew much 
slower, one had a better view of him. 



28 tsttnmit^ of ti^e ^vtt» 

Once we found tracks in the dust by 
the roadside where a bevy of quail had 
passed the night. They had stood in a 
bunch, with their tails together and heads 
outward as though for mutual protection. 

We saw strange things on those long 
rambles through the forest. Molly Cot- 
tontail scurried across our path, but squat- 
ted under a bush, to see what we were 
like. Squirrels eyed us curiously from 
the tops of trees, and the red squirrel 
usually scolded away and made a great 
fuss because we dared to come into his 
woods. 

I came to know all the call notes, 
songs, and cries that floated down the 
aisles of the sweet green woods. The 
rat-a-tat of the black and white, and red 
and white, woodpeckers, and the queer 
cackle of their larger cousin, the yellow- 
hammen Once we heard the cackle of 



smijere K SttttrfeJf WLooXitvatt 29 

the piliated woodpecker, a very wild and 
rare bird, sixteen or eighteen inches in 
length, and the most beautiful of all the 
woodpeckers, but only once were we 
fortunate enough to see him. 

On some of these long tramps we 
learned that both the blue jay and the 
bittern are spies or sentinels, and when 
they hear or see any one coming through 
the woods they quickly spread the news 
and put the wood folks on their guard. 

I have heard the woods ringing with 
bird calls and the chatter of squirrels, but 
at a call from a noisy jay it would be- 
come as quiet as though entirely deserted. 

There were wonderful songsters that 
we stole quietly upon, at the edge of the 
woods, or found in low bushes along 
the swamps. The veery and the hermit 
thrush are two of the sweetest singers 
that ever trilled a note, not to mention 



30 JEmnntu of tiie ^vttu 

their merry cousin the brown thrasher, 
who watches the farmer as he plants his 
corn, and continually cries, " Plant it : 
plant it : dig it up : dig it up. Pull it up. 
Pull it up." 

I also learned to tell many birds by 
their flight when they were too far away 
to distinguish colour or form. There 
was the peculiar galloping of the wood- 
pecker family, that is only imitated by 
one other bird, and that is a small yellow 
bird, or wild canary. 

Then there is the habit of sailing 
which is common to the hawk family, 
and rarely indulged in by other birds. 
The quick strokes of the quail and the 
meadow-lark, and the darting and skim- 
ming of the barn-swallow. The light- 
ning plunges of the night-hawk down 
the twilight sky, followed by that hoarse 
booming sound. These are only a few 



smjjerc K Stttirieti smoolrcvaft 3i 

peculiarities of flight that make it pos- 
sible to tell birds merely by their motion. 

The boy who drives cows to pasture 
at dawn, and goes for them again at 
twilight, is always learning something 
new if he keeps his eyes wide open. 

Little brown birds are frequently flash- 
ing out of the grass by the path, telling 
you where their nests are, and the pasture- 
land is the favourite resort of chewink, 
and the queer cowbird, who is too lazy 
to build a nest of its own, and so lays its 
eggs in its cousin's nest, and expects 
them to hatch and bring up her young. 
I am told by one who knows all about 
birds, that the outraged tohee bunting 
always hatches a new brood, after he has 
brought up the first brood with the 
orphan cowbird. 

Another sight that fills the young mind 
with wonder is the steady strong sweep 



32 Ztnuntu of tJir Evttu 

of a flock of geese through the trackless 
sky, on their way to Hudson's Bay, or 
some of the Canadian lakes. Nearly as 
impressive is the flight of a flock of 
pigeons, with their quick choppy strokes. 

Another view that is less majestic, 
though stirring, is had from the hilltop 
of a winter's morning when sly Reynard 
leads the pack by at a stiff* pace, while 
the full-throated cry of the hounds echoes 
from hilltop to hilltop. 

These are some of the secrets that 
nature yields to the bright eyes and eager 
mind of the country boy, who follows 
her ways faithfully, and is content with 
seeing. 

He may not have quite as much book 
knowledge as the city boy, but he has 
other treasures that are infinitely more 
valuable. The wind has told him secrets 
at the garden wall on a summer's eve. 



Wii)tvt K Stttlriir5 WLoorntvaU 33 

and the wild flowers have opened their 
hearts to him and lifted up their faces 
for him to see. 

He has heard the low sweet whisper of 
spring rising from the dank mould at the 
touch of sunlight, and his heart has been 
glad with the joy of bursting buds, and 
opening leaves. 

He has seen the speckled eggs, and the 
fledglings in the nest, and wondered at 
the manifold life of bird, beast, and 
plant. 

But best of all, this is his world, made 
especially for him. The birds have sung 
just for him and the flowers have bloomed 
for his delight. 

Blackberries have ripened at the forest's 
edge merely that he might pick them, 
and the tall chestnut and walnut trees 
have been mindful of him. 

How could he be other than happy in 



34 Ztn^ntu of t^t ^vttu 

a world like this, and that he has been, 
the world-weary man can best tell you. 
It was out of such a heart, and with a 
deep longing for the joy of childhood, 
that the poet, Hood, wrote this beautiful 
stanza : 

" I remember, I remember 
The Fir Trees dark and high, 
I used to think their slender tops 
Were close against the sky. 
It was childish ignorance ; 
But now 'tis little joy 
To know Fm farther off from Heaven 
Than when I was a boy." 



C|)e Harbinger of Spring 



TpAIR herald of the coming spring 

Who fearest not the winter's snow. 
The friendly fields begin to show, 

haste thy gaily painted wing; 

1 long to hear thee carolling 
Upon the treetop, sweet and low. 
For when I hear thy song, I know 
That soon the robin, too, will sing. 
And all the merry woods will ring 
With Springtime's well remembered song. 
That flowers will wake from slumber long 
And lift their fragrant offering — 

Didst know what joy thy song would bring. 
Dear little harbinger of Spring ? 



II 

THE HARBINGER OF SPRING 

'T^HERE was no hint of spring in the 
-*- crisp winter air and no touch of 
warmth along the broad heavens, or 
across the white frozen earth, when this 
little harbinger of spring appeared. 

Although it was the middle of Febru- 
ary, the eaves had dripped but twice dur- 
ing the month, and the earth looked drear 
and forbidding. 

My own spirit was weighed down by 
the cheerlessness of the landscape, for 
nature's moods are usually reflected in my 
own. The soul is like a looking-glass 
reflecting the lights and shades of all life 
which we see revealed in nature. I could 

37 



38 s:enanti$ of tf^t ^vttn 

not shake off the idea of perpetual snow 
and unending cold. My prophet's eye 
was dim, and summer seemed ages away. 

To break the monotony of indoor life, 
I went into the wood-shed for a whiff of 
outside air, and to try if, by coaxing, 
spring would show her sweet face. 

Fancy my astonishment and joy, almost 
at the first moment, as though in greeting, 
to hear three delicious little notes, sweet 
as the breath of a new-born rose, and as 
refreshing to the heart as an entirely new 
joy. There was no mistaking the song. 
It was as liquid and sweet as the sound of 
molten silver falling into a resonant cru- 
cible. 

" Cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, I 
bring you an olive branch and a promise 
of better days." 

My eyes swept the near-by fields for the 
sweet little stranger, with a boy's eager- 



SCJie ^uvhixiQtv of Spvlitfl 39 

ness, but nowhere was he to be seen. 
Yet still that slight song floated down the 
crisp breath of morning like a benedic- 
tion. " Cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly, cheer-i-ly." 

Then my eyes strayed up into the top 
of the old elm, and I saw him, perched 
upon the utmost twig, like the brave little 
adventurer he is. 

How his bright blue coat glistened in 
the sunlight and how his red vest flamed. 
How slight a messenger he seemed for so 
great a message. How far he had brought 
these tidings of great joy, across frozen 
fields, and bleak moors : ** Spring is 
coming ; be glad, better days are 



near." 



How my eyes devoured him, as he 
balanced himself nicely upon the very top 
of the elm, and poured out his cheerful 
news. He was the only bit of warmth 
in the whole landscape that day, which 



40 ^tnuntn of tJje Evtt^ 

made his beauty and brightness even more 
apparent. 

Three months later, when the scarlet 
tanager and the oriole had come, he 
would appear as very commonplace, but 
now his was the only gay coat in the 
fields. 

Would we remember then that it was 
he who first sang of spring, when the 
reality was yet a long way off? It is easy 
to believe in spring, when arbutus is here 
and the pasture-lands are green, but when 
the snow is over all, how much more 
courage it takes to sing of spring- 
time. 

I often wonder how it happens that so 
fragile a body, and such slight wings, are 
the first to penetrate the frozen north. 
There must be a brave heart underneath 
that scarlet vest, one that storms and cold 
cannot quell. 



2riie Jl^nvhinatv of SjJtfng 4i 

God must have planted in the heart of 
the first bluebird a seed of optimism, and 
the flower of hope, for he is the sunniest, 
cheeriest little herald that ever carried 
good tidings. 

^For several days after this first glimpse 
of this bright blue coat, we saw nothing 
of him. 

He was probably hiding in a barn, or 
in some other sheltered nook, until 
warmer days. He had done his part for 
that week at least, and was bound to take 
the best possible care of himself, for was 
he not the first bluebird, and of more im- 
portance than a whole flock of his fellows 
who would appear later ? Had he not re- 
vived the fainting hearts of those great 
silly bipeds, men, and given them faith in 
the power that never fails ? 

I often wonder if his toes are not cold, 
as he perches upon the bar-post of a bleak 



42 Emuntu of tf)e JEvtm 

March morning and forces his sHght song 
up the boisterous wind. 

His little blue coat would seem to be 
no protection against the winter cold. 
Maybe it is his cheery heart that keeps 
him warm, but in some miraculous way 
he survives to greet the first robin with a 
knowing nod. 

" Hello, — you here ? '' chirps robin 
as he hops over the mowing, looking for 
seeds or grain. 

" Been here a whole month/* is the 
cheery reply. 

"You are awfully slow, robin. You 
should have been here two weeks ago.'* 

It is a bright day for bluebird, in the 
cheerless March calendar, when Mrs. 
Bluebird appears. You at once notice 
from the fulness and sweetness of his 
song that something uncommon has hap- 
pened, but it is not until you discover him 



hovering about his modest little mate 
that the cause of his rhapsody is apparent. 

The male bluebird usually precedes the 
female by a week or two, and her final 
advent is the occasion of renewed court- 
ship, and a deal of attention on his part, 
which she receives as a matter of course, 
and no more than her just due. 

Her garments are not as gay as her 
mate's, and she has no song, but she is con- 
tent to shine with borrowed lustre, and 
informs you with a queer little nod "that 
it is all in the family," so why does it 
matter ? 

House-hunting is the next event in the 
lives of these spring heralds, and as Mro 
Bluebird is particular about his abode and 
Mrs. Bluebird is even fussy, it is a long 
and arduous task, and often consumes 
days, or even a week or two ? 

All sorts of holes, both natural and 



44 Etnantu of lift JEvttu 

artificial, in trees, bar-posts, and frequently 
old buildings, are explored, only to be re- 
jected for some reason or other. 

Finally, when the season is getting ad- 
vanced, and the robins are here in large 
numbers, they select a spot and set to 
work upon the nest. As they are quite 
dainty nest builders, and work slowly, 
they do not get the house done and 
really take possession as early as you would 
think, considering how long they have 
been with us. 

When the eggs, ranging from four to 
six in number, are finally laid, they are 
just the colour that you would expect, for 
what but a delicate blue, suggesting the 
sky of a balmy day in spring, would a 
bluebird want her eggs to be ? 

As the season advances, and our great 
army of songsters comes pouring in from 
the south, bluebird is occasionally lost 



2CJjf la^avUnatv of Siting 45 

sight of. Bright as it is, his coat is not 
so bright as the livery of the flaming 
oriole, or the gay scarlet garb of the 
tanager. 

His song, too, is soon drowned in the 
great chorus of robin, oriole, bobolink, 
and song-sparrow, but you will occasion- 
ally hear his sweet " cheer-i-ly — cheer- 
i-ly '' in lulls of the great rhapsody. 

It sounds faint and far away now, like 
the retreating spirit of spring, but it al- 
ways arouses a feeling of deep gratitude 
in my heart, and I remember him for 
what he was when the winds still whistled 
boisterously and the face of the firmament 
was sombre. 

It is easy enough, I say, for bobolink 
and all the rest to sing, when the dalliant 
breezes are heavy with perfume, and earth 
and sky are full of sunshine and gladness. 
It is a dull heart indeed that would not 



46 ^muntu of tJje ^xttu 

sing at this glad season, but my little 
blue-coated songster showed you the way, 
and his was the sweet prelude to this rap- 
turous anthem. Would you, who sing 
when life is nought but song, have sung 
when the old world was bare and desolate ? 

It was my little spring herald that 
taught me the greatest lesson that we can 
learn in this life ; that of hope and trust, 
optimism and good cheer. 

If, like him, we can smile when clouds 
are over us, and laugh out of a lonely heart, 
we are masters of life, and all it contains. 

So I contend, that of all the birds that 
we love, both for their song and their 
plumage, for their morals and their 
manners, if any one were to be stricken 
from the list, we could least spare the 
bluebird, for without him there would be 
no spring, and no reawakening of glad 
new life. 



iHore Carlj Comers 



TJPON a friendly maple-tree 

I hear the robin singing — 
His rich and happy melody 
Through all the woods is ringing — 
Cheer-up f Cheer-up y all things clear up^ 
We are merry ^ cheery , cheery. 

The sun has slowly sunk to rest. 
The shades of night are falling ^ 
And from his hough beside the nest 
The robin still is calling^ — 
Cheer-up y Cheer-up, all things clear up 
We are merry, cheery, cheery. 



Ill 

MORE EARLY COMERS 

'T^HERE is a long dreary stretch of 
-*" wintry weeks between the coming 
of bluebird, which was a red-letter day in 
the calendar of late February or early 
March, and the advent of robin redbreast. 
You had begun to think that bluebird 
was the only songster with courage and 
faith enough to face the tardy New Eng- 
land spring, when cockrobin appeared. 

You first notice him hopping briskly 
over the bare brown mowing looking for 
seeds upon which to make his breakfast. 
He much prefers worms and small fruit, 
but one cannot be too particular on a crisp 
spring morning about April Fool's Day. 

The order of the coming of the birds described in this chapter is not 
always observed, as Mother Nature delights in irregularidei. 

49 



50 Etnuntn of ttje STttes 

The worms are sensible and have not tried 
to bore up through the frozen earth, and 
who ever heard of fruit preceding the 
blossoms ? 

Cockrobin is very brisk this morning 
and hops nimbly about. I am afraid that 
his toes are cold, and that he keeps on 
the move to warm himself. 

It is always the cockrobin that you see 
first. The large flocks, of which these 
scattering males are the advance-guard, 
are still on Long Island or in Southern 
Connecticut enjoying its sunnier clime. 
When it is a little warmer cockrobin will 
hurry back with the cheerful news, 
** Cheery, cheery, all is well, come on.'' 
Then the great flock will come north- 
ward. 

We are always glad to see this pert, 
saucy fellow. Although we know that 
he will steal our cherries and currants. 



JJlorr Sarlff (iHomtvu 5i 

and eat half our peas a little later, yet 
he is always welcome for the warmth 
there is in his ruddy breast, and the hope 
there is in his blithe song. 

For a few days robin and bluebird 
quarrel as to the brightness of their re- 
spective liveries, and the quality of their 
song, then some warm morning a very 
modest little bird perches upon a bar- 
post and invites you to behold him, in 
the most plaintive little song that ever 
came from the throat of feathered crea- 
ture. " Phoebe, phoebe,*' he sings, over 
and over again. "Phoebe, phoebe, see 
me, see me." 

" Cheerup, cheerup, cheerup,*' replies 
robin from the old elm. " You can't 
sing a little bit. I would give up trying 
if I were you." But the little stranger 
keeps right on, unmindful of robin's scorn. 

" Phcebe, see me, see me." 



62 ^mant^ oC ttie 2rveei5 

He is a flycatcher, and depends upon the 
sun to drive flies and moth-millers from 
their snug beds in cracks and corners so 
that he can catch them. 

Let's watch him for a few moments. 
He is perched upon an apple-tree limb, 
close to the barn, where it is warm and 
sunny, watching for his quarry. Pres- 
ently, if he is lucky, he will dart out, 
make a slight swoop in the air, and snip 
will go his bill and an unwary fly will be 
buzzing in his crop. He will then fly 
back to almost exactly the same spot on 
the limb that he occupied a moment be- 
fore and resume his watch. If we should 
have a long cold snap he would have a 
sorry time of it, for the flies would return 
to their sleep, and the Phoebe would have 
to be a vegetarian for awhile or starve. 

Who is this gay fellow darting and 
skimming over the brown mowings, as 



light-heartedly as though he had not a care 
in the whole world? How airily and 
gracefully he skims along, as though every 
motion were a delight to him, as it prob- 
ably is. Don't you remember him ? His 
very motion is enough to tell you who he 
is. No other bird flies as lightly as that. 

His brown coat and lighter vest should 
identify him as well. 

It is barn-swallow. Welcome, gay 
chatterer. Where is the rest of the noisy 
colony that chattered under the eaves 
last spring and plastered the niches with 
a score of mud houses ? No barn is quite 
complete or quite country-like without 
its complement of barn-swallows, darting 
in and out, and chattering like magpies. 

But while we are talking of chattering, 
just wait until some warm morning when 
a flock of about five hundred purple 
grackles, or blackbirds, as you children 



54 Etnantu xif tJie E^vttu 

call them, settle in the big elm and begin 
talking over old times and their plans for 
the coming spring. 

Then there will be a chatter and a 
babel that will make the swallows seem 
like very quiet birds. Each blackbird 
will be croaking and squawking at the top 
of his voice, all talking at once, and each 
trying with might and main to make him- 
self heard above the gossip of his fellows. 

If the morning sun plays full upon the 
flock you will see some of the brightest 
garments that have yet appeared in the new 
spring styles, all iridescent and shining, and 
reflecting the sunlight in its many rainbow 
hues, bottle green and plum colour, light 
blue, navy blue, and all the darker shades, 
down to the shiniest black imaginable. 
They are all proud of their brilliant 
colours, and prink and smooth out their 
feathers with great care. 



Presently they will fly away like a black 
cloud, only to return again in a moment, 
noisier and gayer than ever. 
^ Down in the meadows, the purple 
grackle's cousin, the red-winged black- 
bird, is disporting himself, not so noisily, 
but quite as ostentatiously as his cousin. 
You would never know from her dress 
that Mrs. Redwing belonged to the same 
family, for she is very modest, has no 
flaming red wings, and looks more like a 
retiring brown bird than a gay redwing. 
You will notice that just the opposite 
style prevails in the bird family from 
that in the human family. With us the 
females wear the gay feathers and bright 
dresses, but in the bird family it is the 
males, and they do all the singing as well. 
So the world would be very desolate with- 
out them. But what of the nest and 
the bright coloured eggs, and the young 



56 2renantf$ of tfie ^vttn 

mouths waiting to be filled ! Ah, that is 
the mother bird*s world, and she fills it as 
only a mother can. 

Song-sparrow will be along directly. 
He is not much to look at, but wait until 
his liquid song floats down the morning 
stillness, then you will thank Heaven that 
he has returned. 

Yes, the whole gay-coated throng will 
soon be here, for the spring comes on 
rapidly, once the shad-blossom shakes 
out its white folds. The Baltimore 
oriole, with its orange and yellow tunic 
and its flutelike song, the tanager, with 
its scarlet coat and its high shrill melody. 
Together tanager and oriole, who is the 
true robin, will flash across the fields 
catching the full sunlight and dazzling us 
with their brightness. Down in the 
meadow, the gayest, sweetest song of all 
will soon be heard. For bobolink will 



JWore iSarls Ctomerfii 57 

be there in his plain black and white, and 
Mrs. Bobolink, in her yellow gown. 
The world will soon be flooded with sun- 
light and song. But what of these sim- 
pler songs that cheered us in early spring 
days when our hearts were heavy ? Will 
they be lost in the great chorus ? 

Not while the human heart has grati- 
tude, and the mind can still recall its 
friends in need. 

We will thank God for bobolink and 
oriole, tanager and veery, but deep down 
in our hearts we will still love the blue- 
birds and the robin, for the olive branch 
they brought us when we needed cheer. 



Xittle Homes in tt)t ilea\jefi 



TpASHIONED so fair ^ this small inverted dome. 
With bits of moss and grass and strings, 
And underneath the brooding wings. 
Four tender tiny gaping things. 
And near the nest the one who sings. 
Ah, — heart of mine, is this not truly home ? 



IV 
LITTLE HOMES IN THE LEAVES 

IT is the last of April, and for a few 
brief hours the sky has caught the very 
smile of June. The wind and the sun 
may think better of it in half an hour 
and send us a cutting hail-storm, but 
coquettish April is wearing her sweetest 
smile just at this moment. 

Underfoot there are still traces of 
mud time, for the frost has been very 
slow in coming out this year. 

Bluebird has been prospecting for a 
suitable place to build his nest for weeks, 
and robin has been upon the same quest 
for a few days, but active nest-building 
has not yet begun. 

With alternating sun and rain, heat 

61 



62 ^tnantn of tfje ^vttn 

and cold, the days slip by, with very little 
change in the landscape, until about the 
fifth of May. Then the sun leaps at a 
single bound into new activity, and with 
a glad rush the leaves appear. Not all at 
once, of course, but they will come on 
much faster than one would imagine, 
once the conditions are right. 

This is what the bird-folks have been 
waiting for, and with a chorus of twitters 
and chirps they fall to nest-building, with 
an industry that knows no such word as 
failure. 

Several spots may be visited before the 
right one is finally found. The proper 
building-material may have to be brought 
from a long distance, and the nest may be 
blown down by the wind, or destroyed 
in some other way, before it is finally 
completed, but they pick and pull, poke 
and twist, till the home is complete. 



mttlt ?l^omts in tJje Heaties 63 

It may be a very plain mud and straw 
house, lined with feathers and horsehair, 
like that the robin builds, or it may be a 
daintier house, like the bluebird's. 

Perhaps it is a wonderful hanging 
basket, carefully woven and swinging 
from a limb, like the nest of the oriole, 
or maybe it is no larger than a fair-sized 
peach and lined with the finest, softest ma- 
terial, like the nest of the humming-bird, 
but wherever located, or however fash- 
ioned, it is the abode of love and gladness, 
song and sweet content. 

Some of these pretty nests may be 
placed in the tops of the tallest trees, 
where curious boys and more curious 
cats cannot get at them, while others are 
under a clump of grass on the ground, as 
the nest of the little brown bird who has 
such dainty spotted eggs. 

If I should undertake to describe all the 



64 Etn^nt^ of ttie ^vttu 

delicate colours, shades, and tints of birds* 
eggs, I would have to employ half the 
painters' terms, which might confuse you. 
Red and yellows do not occur to any ex- 
tent in birds' eggs, but blues, greens, and 
browns, and all the neutral tints between, 
are used with the nicest art. One of the 
most dainty colours on the painter's palette 
is called robin's-egg blue. 

One of the very first to sit is Mrs. 
Woodcock, who is not particular about 
her nest, and chooses almost any depres- 
sion that is slightly hidden. 

But the May days are not far advanced 
when a dozen or more patient mother 
birds are sitting upon their eggs, while 
their mates sing through the morning 
hours. 

The most common of these are Mrs. 
Robin, in her plain nest in the crotch of 
an old apple-tree; Mrs. Bluebird, who is 



EfttU Jijomtn in tije Heabrj^ 65 

living this year in a deserted woodpecker's 
hole ; which tenement has been entirely 
rearranged to suit her own fancy since 
the woodpecker family moved out; 
Jenny Wren, in her nest among the 
leaves of the woodbine ; Mrs. Phoebe, 
comfortably installed in her plain house 
upon a beam in the shed ; Mrs. Swallow 
in her mud nest upon a rafter of the barn ; 
Mrs. Oriole in her swinging nest in the 
elm ; Mrs. Tanager occupying a less fash- 
ionable nest in the hedge ; Mrs. Bobolink 
in her grass home tucked under some bush 
or stump ; and all the thrushes, living on 
or near the ground. In all these pretty 
little homes, warm mother hearts are 
beating just above the eggs and the 
birds are hoping that no evil will be- 
fall them ; that the black snake and 
the crow and the king-bird will not 
discover their abodes, and that the 



66 ^tnunt^ of tJjr ^vttu 

"birds'-egg" boy will not come their 
way. 

Do you notice anything peculiar about 
the song of robin or oriole this morning ? 
It seems to me that it is fuller and more 
exultant than usual. Perhaps something 
is doing in the little nest, and he is telling 
it to the world, that others may rejoice 
with him, for his joy is almost too great 
for his small breast to hold. 

There he goes with a worm. Now 
let's watch the nest and see if we can dis- 
cover anything. Mrs. Robin has come 
forth, and she would not do that if the 
worm were intended for her. See ! look 
quick ; there are four wide-open bills 
thrust above the edge of the nest, and 
there goes robin*s worm, like a penny in 
the slot. Now he is off for another. His 
is the hungriest family I ever saw. He 
will do little but bring worms all day 



ILfttle JI)omtu in tJjr 7Lt^\}tu 67 

long, and at night those four gaping 
mouths will come up as readily as in the 
morning. 

You would never know that Mrs. Blue- 
bird's young family were bluebirds, for 
they are black as coals. It is not until 
they have been out of the nest for some 
time that they put on any shade of blue. 

Mrs. Towhee Bunting, also called 
cheewink, is very much annoyed by the 
cowbird, a lazy brown bird that inhabits 
cow-pastures. This lazy bird will not 
build a nest of her own, but lays her eggs 
in the nests of her cousin, the cheewink. 
Mrs. Cheewink always brings up the 
orphan cowbirds as carefully as she does 
her own, but she usually raises another 
brood and hides her nest so skilfully that 
the cowbird cannot find it. 

I once knew of a cheewink who was 
so annoyed at finding the cowbird's egg 



68 ^tnunt^ of tJje STrerfii 

in her nest, that she put a false bottom in 
her nest and walled the cowbird egg in- 
side, so that it should not hatch with 
hers. 

The night-hawk is not mindful of her 
young, and she often lays her eggs on a 
rock, with very little soft material under 
them. 

It would surprise you to watch a family 
of young birds and see how fast they 
grow. In two or three weeks first 
feathers appear, and in as many months 
they are shoved from the nest, never to 
return. 

One will often find in an old orchard 
what the bird-student calls a robin-roost. 
This is a favourite limb, where twenty or 
thirty young robins all roost together at 
night. There they will sit winking and 
blinking, like a row of sleepy chickens. 

Do the parent birds teach the young 




*• *^:# 



ft' riV 



X-^M 



Hfttlr ^oxntu in t)ie UtaiJtu 69 

to fly, and other accomplishments that 
are necessary to bird life ? Some natural- 
ists say they do, and others that they do 
not, but I incline to the former opinion, 
else why does the father robin stand upon 
a near-by limb, dangling a fat worm in 
his beak, while the young stretch their 
heads over the edge of the nest for the 
prize ? Why is there such a chirping and 
calling of the old birds and answering 
peeps from the young, unless they are 
trying in bird language to reassure the 
fledglings, and coax them to make the first 
attempt with their wings ? 

The calling about a crow's nest is fairly 
deafening when the young are learning 
to fly. Even in the Scriptures it is writ- 
ten, " As an eagle stirreth up her nest, flut- 
tereth over her young, spreadeth abroad 
her wings, taketh them, beareth them 
on her wings." 



70 ^muntu of ti^e ^vun 

I wonder if my young reader has a col- 
lection of birds' eggs nicely numbered and 
lettered in his cabinet ; if so, here is a 
thought for him to ponder when the 
spring brings the birds back again. 

Supposing there are one hundred eggs 
in your collection ; one hundred less birds 
sing to us and make the world glad. Im- 
agine a tree filled with one hundred birds. 
How bright it would be with their 
plumage, and how your dooryard would 
ring with the song of a hundred throats. 
All this joy and gladness, these bright 
coats and sweet voices, you have crushed 
in the shell. Each time your hand stole 
into the nest that was sacred to get an- 
other egg for your collection, you took a 
life that was precious in the eyes of God. 



^Itng^sj^ot Cime 



Tp LASHES a flame of gold and orange by. 

Dazzling the vision with its wondrous hue^ 
As though a lens shot all the sunlight through 
Upon that form and dimmed the summer sky. 
Or like a smith, with mimic hammer high. 
Of rubies made, tvho from a rainbow drew 
Showers of sparks ; thus when the oriole -flew 
His loondroais wings beat out such flames, the eye 
Could only dream of him when he had flown. 



V 

SLING- SHOT TIME 

IT is nesting time in Bird-land, but 
sling-shot time in the world of the 
enterprising boy, whose pockets are filled 
with pebbles, and in whose hand is a 
brand new sling-shot. 

Now don*t think for a moment, boys, 
that I do not sympathize with you in all 
the lawful sports that gladden a boy's 
heart, — sports that make his eye quick to 
see and his hand strong to act. But the 
world is very large. God has made it so, 
that there might be plenty of room for 
you and your sling-shot and the birds and 
their nests. 

Did you ever try marking out a target 
on the side of the barn, and shoot pebbles 

73 



74 ^tnuntn of ttie ^vuu 

at that, in competition with a boy friend ? 
It is good sport and quite as satisfactory 
as shooting pebbles at every bird or 
squirrel that comes near the house. This 
is the way to make the target : 

Mark out a circle four inches In di- 
ameter, with a piece of chalk, then fill it 
in solid white. This is the bulFs-eye, and 
counts five. About that draw a circle 
eight inches in diameter. This is the first 
ring, and counts four. Then outside that 
another ring, twelve inches in diameter ; 
this is the second ring and counts three. 
Also make two more rings outside this 
one, one sixteen inches, and the other 
twenty. These count two and one, and 
any stone that goes outside the last ring 
does not count at all. Then stand ten or 
fifteen paces away from the target and fire 
ten shots each, and see which marks- 
man can make the highest score. This 



will hurt no one and will prove good 
sport. 

I do not think we usually consider how 
much larger and stronger than the birds 
and squirrels we are, when we hurl stones 
at them. Supposing a giant as tall as the 
maple-tree in front of your house were to 
shoot a stone the size of a grindstone at 
you, out of a mighty sling-shot, do you 
not imagine it would hurt, if he hit you ? 
Even if he missed and the great stone 
whizzed by your head, would not your 
hair stand up with fright ? 

I remember as well as though it were 
yesterday, the remorse of a small boy, 
who threw a stone at a towhee bunting, 
while on the way to school. The bunting 
was sitting in an alder bush, cheerily 
calling " Cheewink, cheewink" to the 
passer-by. 

Now the small boy had no intention of 



76 ^tnuntu of tfit ^vttu 

hurting the cheewink, but he was carry- 
ing a fine round stone, that he had just 
taken from the brook, in his hand, and 
the hand let the stone go at the bunting 
before the small boy knew what he was 
doing. 

There was a frightened twitter, a swish 
in the bush, and the stone rolled away in 
the grass. The boy peeped excitedly into 
the bush, but no bird was to be seen. 
Then he looked upon the ground beyond 
the bush and saw two pathetic little feet 
pointing up out of the grass at him. 
"You did this, you are a murderer," they 
seemed to be saying. 

The culprit did not wait to learn more, 
but fled toward the schoolhouse, feeling 
very sorry for what he had done. His 
face was so red through the morning 
lessons that he felt sure the teacher must 
know he had done something naughty. 



SUnfl =sljot JTdne 77 

He missed words in the spelling class that 
he knew quite well, so that altogether he 
had a very sorry day of it. 

He could hardly wait for the school to 
close at night, that he might go back to 
the scene of his crime and see if he could 
find the wounded or dead bunting. 

Stealthily he approached the spot and 
peeped through the fence, but the accus- 
ing feet were no longer thrust up through 
the grass at him, and he does not know to 
this day whether the bunting finally re- 
covered and flew away, or whether some 
small animal found the dead bird and ate 
it. But in either case the act was thought- 
less and wicked. 

Tommy Andrews thought he was the 
happiest boy in the whole world that 
May morning, when his father put a new 
sling-shot in his hand, and told him to 
go out and amuse himself with it, but 



78 tEtnantu of tJje ^vttn 

not to break the windows, or hurt any- 
body. 

Tommy went out to the driveway and 
filled his pockets with small stones and 
began throwing them at the barn. " Zip," 
said the rubber; ** Hum-m-m,'' said the 
stone, and a moment later it would hit the 
barn with a resounding whack. What fun 
it was, and how Tommy would swell with 
pride, when the stone struck the board 
that he aimed at. He was a real David ; 
if he only had a giant to throw a stone 
at, what a hero he would be. 

Just at that moment Chatterbox, the 
red squirrel, ran out of the corn-crib, 
carrying an ear of corn in his mouth, and 
started along the wall for the woods. 
*'Here is a mark," thought Tommy. 
" Here is something alive, something that 
will be afraid.'* "But father said not to hurt 
any one,'' cried Conscience. " Pooh, a red 



SUufl = fiiijot Eimt 79 

squirrel ain't any one/' retorted Tommy. 
** Zip," said the rubber. " Hum-m-m," said 
the stone, and it struck upon the wall 
close to poor Chatterbox, who dropped 
his ear of corn and fled to the woods for 
his life. 

" Zip," said the rubber again, 
" Hum-m-m," said the stone. But this time 
it fell short of the flying squirrel, and 
Chatterbox was soon out of range. " My, 
wasn't that exciting," said Tommy. " I 
wish I could see another squirrel, it's 
great fun to see him scamper." But poor 
Chatterbox was of quite another opinion. 
He had been badly scared, but he did not 
mind this. It was a great disappointment 
for him to lose the ear of corn that he 
had been to so much pains to get for 
Mrs. Squirrel, who was very hungry and 
poor with nursing her four baby squirrels. 
All Chatterbox could take her after an 



80 Ztnuntn of tJie Evttu 

hour's patient search was a rotten apple, 
from which she ate the seeds. 

Tommy's bright eyes had barely lost 
sight of Chatterbox fleeing along the 
walls when he espied Baltimore oriole, 
flying to the old elm with a long piece 
of string dangling from his bill. He had 
been searching for two days for just such 
a string as this with which to hang his 
nest from the limb he had chosen, and 
was filled with joy at finding it. 

Quick as a flash. Tommy slipped a 
stone into the sling-shot. " Zip,'' said 
the rubber. " Hum-m-m," said the stone, 
and the frightened Baltimore oriole 
dropped the string that had cost him so 
much patient labour, and it was lost in the 
bushes, and he was not able to find it 
again, although he searched faithfully 
while Tommy was gone to dinner. 

Chippy, the pretty little striped squirrel 



<SUng = stjot mmt 8i 

who lived under the roots of the old elm, 
was tired of his cold, damp hole, where 
he had lived all winter long, and came 
out to take the sunlight, and perhaps to 
find a butternut with which to piece out 
his pantry shelves, for food was getting 
low. Anyhow, a butternut would taste 
good ; he had not had one for months. 

" Zip," said the rubber. " Hum-m-m," 
said the stone, and with a frightened 
chirp, poor Chippy fled back into his 
cold hole, and left all the sunlight for 
Tommy, selfish Tommy. 

The same evening, cockrobin perched 
upon the old elm and began his twilight 
rhapsody. His heart was almost bursting 
with joy. Four eggs, as blue as the 
heavens, had hatched that day, and cock- 
robin was telling the good news to all the 
world, that others might rejoice with 
him. Rays of the setting sun fell aslant 



82 Etnuntn of tJie tEvttu 

through the branches of the elm full upon 
cockrobin, making his bright breast to 
glow like coals in the twilight fire. 

"Zip," said the rubber. " Hum-m-m," 
said the stone, and it flew straight to the 
mark, striking innocent, joyous cock- 
robin fairly upon the side of the head, and 
turning his rich song into a squeak of pain. 

He tottered for a moment on the limb, 
then with a great effort flew away toward 
the woods. 

Just at the edge of the woods his wings 
collapsed and he fluttered feebly to the 
ground, staining the grass with drops of 
crimson, brighter than his gay breast. 
Here he lay for hours, unmindful of the 
cold of the May night, or anything save 
an aching head, that hummed and 
throbbed just as a boy's head does when 
he falls and strikes it upon the door-step, 
or is hit by his playmate's bat. But when 



SUn0 =:fiiJ)ot Eimt 83 

the gray light of morning stole across the 
fields, and the birds began to twitter in 
their nests along the edge of the woods, 
cockrobin aroused himself, and flew away 
to the brook to bathe his bloody, throb- 
bing head. He thrust it down into the 
water many times, and the cool water 
soothed the throbbing as long as he held 
it under. When he had washed the 
blood away, and made himself look re- 
spectable, he flew home to his mate and 
his little ones to tell them of his mishap. 
But as he went he noticed that one half 
of the world that had been so bright the 
day before was black as night. He al- 
most flew into an apple-tree before he 
noticed it, for it was on his dark side. 

The fact] was, cockrobin was blind in 
one eye, the stone from the sling-shot 
having closed one of his bright eyes 
for ever. 



84 Ztnnntu of tije E^vttu 

Mrs. Robin was greatly grieved at his 
mishap. She also had to bring all the 
worms to the nest now. She was much 
hindered in this task of feeding her 
young, by stones from a tireless sling- 
shot, that hummed about her whenever 
she appeared in the road where worms 
were plenty. 

But Tommy was having great sport 
with his sling-shot. His father had 
merely told him not to break windows or 
hurt anybody, and who ever heard of 
calling the birds and the squirrels any- 
body? 

The following day cockrobin flew 
down to the orchard to get away from 
the whizzing stones and enjoy the sun- 
light and sweetness of the May morning. 

His head did not ache so badly this 
morning, but the blindness on one side 
made him very anxious. He was always 



Sling =:f$l|ot srtme 85 

afraid of running into something or 
that some one of his enemies might 
approach from that side and do him 
harm. 

But the sunlight and warmth and scent 
of apple blossoms soon revived his spirits, 
and he was singing softly to himself, 
" Cheery, cheery, cheery," when a glit- 
tering steely blue bird came sailing 
noiselessly across the fields. The sun- 
light fell full upon his bright back and 
shining wings, and made him look like 
a tinsel bird, instead of the cruel pigeon- 
hawk that he really was. Usually cock- 
robin would have seen him at once, he 
was so bright and shining, but he was 
approaching on the robin*s blind side, 
and the first warning of his coming that 
cockrobin had was the swish of the 
hawk's wings among the blossoms of the 
apple-tree. 



86 Ztnantn of tiie ^vtt^ 

With a frightened chirp the robin 
spread his wings to fly, but too late. 

The same instant the pigeon-hawk 
buried his talons in his ruby breast and 
flew away to the wood with him. From 
the top of a beech the hawk sent down a 
shower of bright feathers torn from cock- 
robin's gay breast, and the old elm by 
the farmhouse knew the sweet songster 
no more. 

Thus is the inquiry of the old nursery 
tale brought back to us. " Who killed 
cockrobin ?'' Was it pigeon-hawk, who 
found him maimed and helpless, or 
Tommy, whose careless sling-shot first 
blinded the robin and left him an easy 
prey to all his enemies ? 



91 ^tatligfjt Crageti? 



/^ AY crested tenant of the deep wild woods ^ 

Oft have I heard thee wake these solitudes 
Where quiet loves to dwell, with lightning stroke. 
Holding with clinging clato to elm or oak. 
Until the echoes of thy sturdy whacks 
Gave hack a sound, like to the woodman s axe, 
While thou didst drive thy beak, with point like steel. 
Deep in the wood to find thy morning meal. 



VI 

A STARLIGHT TRAGEDY 

" 'T^HE little brother to the bear," as 
several naturalists have so aptly 
called him, came scratching down the out- 
side of an old stub birch and alighted at its 
foot. It was an old trick with him, for 
the birch stub was hollow and its dry in- 
side had been his home for two or three 
years. So he had got used to this back- 
ing out of his front door and sliding tail 
first down his front walk. 

The creature, who was about the size 
of a small dog, weighing perhaps twenty- 
five pounds, was not a bear, as you children 
know bruin, but a large raccoon. His 
habits are those of the bear, and as he 
belongs to the family, it is quite fair 



90 ^Tenanti^ of ti^e Zvtt^ 

to call him the little brother to the 
bear. 

He dens up every autumn and sleeps 
through the winter, living upon his fat 
for several months, just as the bear 
does. 

His gait too, as he shambles along 
through the woods, reminds one of the 
movements of a bear, only he is rather 
more agile and more stealthy. 

Presently he came out into a meadow, 
where a quiet little brook slipped gently 
upon its way, winding in and out among 
the meadow-grass, and about the feet of 
tall willows. 

This little stream was the favourite 
haunt of the raccoon, for he is something 
of a fisherman, and will eat almost any- 
thing, if it has a fishy smell about it. In 
fact, his Latin name means the Washer, 
derived from his peculiar habit of tak- 



a <StatUg)|t STtaflclrj? 91 

ing everything to the brook and washing 
it before eating. 

It was a very pretty face that was 
mirrored by the moonhght in the little 
brook. Cunning and roguishness, and 
perhaps a bit of the bear's drollery were 
its principal traits. About the end of the 
nose was a white ring, and black rings 
around each eye. His tail was also ringed 
for nearly its entire length. There is but 
one other North American animal who 
enjoys this distinction of a ringed tail, and 
that is the civet-cat of the Southwest. 

Presently the starlight that fell across 
the raccoon's shoulders showed him a 
small moving object in the water. 
Quickly and cautiously his paw went 
down, and in another second a half-pound 
sucker was flopping in the grass. 

Mr. Coon broke the back of his catch 
at a single bite and then leisurely ate his 



92 STenantfOi of f^t Zvttu 

prize, all but the ofFal and head, which 
he left in the grass. 

This was all very good as far as it went, 
but the coon was still gaunt from his 
long winter's fast, and a meal of one 
course would not satisfy him. A little 
further on he poked out a fresh-water 
clam, and breaking it open with his 
teeth, scooped out its slimy contents. 
Fish and clams were a good beginning, 
but he must have warm blood before 
he slept. 

In a clump of alder bushes near the 
brook he got a strong bird scent. It 
must be on the ground and very near, for 
it fairly ravished his nostrils. His habit 
of blundering along was laid aside, and 
he crept stealthily, almost foxlike, toward 
his prey. It was from under an old log 
that the scent came. He was just con- 
sidering whether to try and creep nearer. 




'A Woodcock Whistled lp Th rough the Alder Bushes" 



^ StatUfliftt JTraflelrfi 93 

or spring at once and trust to luck, when 
a woodcock whistled up through the 
alder bushes and whirred away into the 
darkness. 

Mr. Raccoon nosed along the edge of 
the log, until the scent told him where 
the woodcock had been, and then thrust 
his nose into the nest. It did not contain 
young birds, as he had hoped, but five or 
six warm eggs. These he ate ravenously 
and the setting was spoiled. Then he 
crouched for awhile under the edge of 
the log and waited for the woodcock's 
return, but she had gotten a bad fright 
and did not come back. It was lucky 
that the raccoon had come in the night, 
for the woodcock is more watchful at 
night than by day, or she might have 
been taken too. I have frequently had a 
woodcock light upon the ground within 
ten feet of me and stand winking and 



94 ^tnnntu of tijcr Evttu 

blinking for half a minute, before he 
would make me out. 

Finally the hunter got tired of waiting 
and went in search of other game. 

He crossed the meadow and climbed a 
stone wall, close by an old apple-tree. 
At the foot of the tree he stopped and 
went carefully about it several times, snif- 
fing critically. Then he went to another 
tree and still another, going through the 
same process, but finally came back to 
the first tree. He seemed to be trying 
to determine which one he wanted. 

When he had satisfied himself that he 
was right he began cautiously climbing, 
going up a foot or two and then stop- 
ping to snifF and listen. Once there 
was a little squeak and a flutter. This 
made him stop and keep very still for 
several seconds. But finally he hitched 
a few feet higher toward a large limb. 



a StatUgljt JTtaflelrjj 95 

About six inches below the limb was a 
round dark hole, three or four inches in 
diameter. Toward this hole the raccoon 
carefully wriggled, and with a sudden 
stealthy motion thrust his pointed nose 
into the old apple-tree. 

There was a frightened squawk, and a 
furious beating inside, but the struggle 
was very brief, for in a few seconds the 
relentless hunter pulled out a golden 
winged woodpecker, and breaking her 
neck at a single bite, dropped her, still 
fluttering feebly, to the ground. 

Then the inquisitive muzzle was again 
thrust into the woodpecker's hole, but 
the bottom of the nest was so deep that 
he could not reach it. 

But he wished to know if there were 
fledglings, or eggs. So he thrust in his 
paw and easily reached the bottom of 
the nest. One by one he raked out the 



96 ^tnantu of tfje Srees 

eggs, dropping them to the ground. 
When he was sure that the nest was en- 
tirely empty, he hastily slid down the 
trunk of the tree to his late supper. 

First he broke the eggs and licked up 
their contents. Then he stripped the 
gay coat from the yellowhammer and 
deliberately ate her, crunching the bones 
with keen relish. 

As with the fish, he left the bird*s en- 
trails, and also her feet and beak, as too 
coarse for the palate of a fastidious rac- 
coon. 

When the last morsel had been eaten, 
and he had carefully licked every trace 
of blood from his paw, he climbed the 
wall and went home to his hollow birch 
by a roundabout way. 

It is merely upon circumstantial evi- 
dence that I charge Mr. Raccoon with 
the murder of Mrs. Golden-winged 



Woodpecker, while sleeping safe and 
snug, as she thought, in her well-protected 
nest in the heart of the old apple-tree, 
but I will give you each link in the 
evidence and you can put it together for 
yourself. 

I was fishing along the little brook, 
which was a favourite stream with me, 
as well as with the raccoon. 

I first noticed the tracks in the mud 
along the brook and then the entrails of 
the sucker, whom I identified by his 
head, which the old epicurean had left. 
Through the tall meadow grass I tracked 
him as easily as though it had been in 
snow, to the empty woodcock's nest, 
where the egg shells had not yet dried. 
Again the swale grass stood me in good 
stead, for it was still pressed down where 
he left a trail to the orchard. There at 
the foot of the old apple-tree was seen 



98 ^tnantn of tije Evuu 

the full measure of his crime, for golden 
and black and gray feathers were scat- 
tered about freely, and the two pathetic 
feet of the woodpecker told their sor- 
rowful tale. 

Still more incriminating was bark, 
torn from the tree, and claw marks 
where the raccoon had climbed. Also 
an occasional gray hair sticking in the 
bark added its testimony to the guilt of 
the accused. 

This is the evidence upon which I 
charge Mr. Raccoon, living at the time 
in the old birch stub, in a neighbouring 
sugar orchard, of murdering Mrs. Golden 
Woodpecker, a peaceful tenant of the 
old apple-tree. 

If there be any defence for the culprit, 
let us have it, that justice may be done. 

" He was hungry and merely obeying 
a law of nature,'' you say. He considers 



a Statlfflijt EvaQtlfs 99 

the fish of the stream and the fowls of 
the air his lawful prey. To sustain life he 
sharpens his wits and practises patience 
and cunning. He did not kill for sport, 
as man frequently does, but for meat. 

**A11 other creatures do the same,'' 
you say. 

The weaker animals are meat for the 
stronger, and only the strongest of the 
strong survive, in the battle for life. 

Ah, Mr. Raccoon, we will have to 
pronounce you not guilty of murder, 
upon that score. You were merely 
seeking your supper, like any other gen- 
tleman. Go your way, but beware of 
the trap at the edge of the corn-field, and 
the hunters over the hill. A coon sup- 
per may be planned in the autumn, and 
he who dined upon Mrs. Golden-winged 
Woodpecker may tickle the hunter's 
palate. 



Mtitff Sltio 9lfiout i^otj^tnff 



CT^HE GracJdes are here and that is quite clear. 

The morning is ringing, — not with their singing, 
But with their talking, they're piping and squawking 
Some scandalous ditty, the more thens the pity. 
The Grackles are here, that's plain to your ear 
And also your eye, for under the sky 
Their bottle-green throats and dark purple coats 
Are as fair as you'll find, to a tailor-bird's mind. — 
But song, — what commotion, they haven't a notion. 
Each harsh rasping note, it sticks in the throat. 
For song we'll go then to an old Guinea hen, 
She'll sing us Heydiddle to a broken-back fiddle, 
But song do not tackle, you croaking old Grackle. 



VII 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 

/^NE warm May morning, when the 
tender green mantle of spring-time 
was being gently laid across the breast of 
the old earth, and all the birds were 
twittering softly to themselves because 
they were so glad, I heard a great com- 
motion in the old elm near the house. 
It was not a song, although there were 
many voices, but the noisiest medley of 
squeaks, squawks, pipes, whistles, and 
other sounds too queer to have a name. 
All of the tones were very wheezy, and 
some sounded petulant and scolding. 

" The grackles have come," I said to 
myself " It must be a large flock. I 
will go out and see." I found the old 

103 



104 ^Tenants of tiie Zvttn 

tree fairly black with them, a gay, noisy 
colony. There must have been at least 
five hundred in the flock, and as all were 
talking and scolding at the top of their 
voices, the din can easier be imagined 
than described. I crept cautiously out to 
the tree, and seating myself upon a root, 
was an uninvited member of the black- 
bird assembly. 

The bright rays of the morning sun 
fell full upon them, and they were as 
gay a company as one would often see. 
Their wonderful bottle-green heads and 
necks shone like emeralds, and even their 
black was as shiny as a new hat. They 
seemed to be a very self-conscious crowd, 
for they prinked and perked as they 
scolded and chattered, until one could not 
have told whether toilet or conversation 
was the object of the meeting. 

As I sat there under the old elm, with 



JHttcJi ^rfo Mtout :isrott|infl 105 

the spring sunshine waking new joy in 
'my blood, an*^ the scent of lilacs in my 
nostrils, the spirit of birdland came upon 
me and I was able to see and hear as a 
bird. Then in an instant all the croaking 
and squawking above was plain to me and 
I was one of the gay company. 

" Keep your old tail out of my face. 
There aren't any cobwebs in my eyes, 
that I need my countenance dusted by 
you." 

"Take another limb then. There is 
room enough in the tree for us all.'* 

" Stop crowding I say. You'll have 
me off. I've got as good a right as you. 
How bright the sun is ! My, isn't it 
nice to feel such beams again ! How 
my muscles ache this morning. I'm 
getting pretty old for such long flights." 

" Hear grandpa. He says he's get- 
ting old. His coat is rather dull. You'll 



106 STenanti^ of tfie STtnfii 

have to brush up your coat this year, 
grandpa, if you want to get a mate." 

" 'Tis getting pretty shabby/' piped 
the wheezy old grackle at the top of the 
tree. " I guess it don't make much dif- 
ference whether I take a mate or not, 
I'm so old," and the aged grackle settled 
down into a dejected bunch of rusty 
black feathers and was quiet. 

At this point in the wild medley of 
conversation a large and gorgeously dressed 
grackle took a commanding position in the 
tree, and cried, *' Order, ladies and gentle- 
men, order." In a very few seconds it 
was as quiet in the tree as though there 
had only been five blackbirds there in- 
stead of five hundred. All the sound that 
was noticeable was the occasional flutter 
of a wing, as a bird balanced himself, 
when the wind swayed his branch, or a 
slight half-smothered squeak. 



JWttcift ^iro ^iiottt :&Cotf|fnfl io7 

When this silence had been maintained 
for several seconds the splendid grackle, 
who had called order, began speaking. 
His voice was wheezy and asthmatic like 
the rest of the family, but what he said 
was quite plain. 

" My friends," he continued, ** by the 
authority vested in me for the past five 
years" (here he swelled out his breast 
and looked vain) "as chairman of this 
goodly company" (squawks of ap- 
proval) " I call to order the tenth an- 
nual assembly of Division Eighteen of 
the North American Purple Crackles 
Society." 

" Good, good,'' cried several birds in 
chorus. 

" Order, gentlemen," piped the chair- 
man. " Wait until I make a good point 
before you applaud. There will be plenty 
of chances later," and the magnificent 



108 Ztnmitu of t^t ^vttu 

fellow spread one of his glossy wings in 
the sunlight. 

"We have taken our northern flight 
very leisurely this spring and have ar- 
rived in fine condition, which is largely 
due to my judgment, I take it/' 

"And good weather,'' squawked an old 
grackle at the top of the tree. 

" Don't interrupt me," snapped the 
chairman in his most rasping tones, and 
the offender looked verv humble and did 
not open his bill again for the entire 
meeting. 

" Three times upon the way have we 
seen the fruit-trees blossom. Once in 
New Jersey, once on Long Island, and 
once here." 

" Where, where? " piped a score of birds 
at once. 

" Look yonder," returned the chair- 
man, scornfully. I looked in the direc- 



iWttcJi aitro atiottt XotJidtfl 109 

tion indicated and saw that the pear-tree 
by the barn had just come out that morn- 
ing. Even at that moment a pufF of 
spring wind wafted its fragrance to us. 

" Good, good/' cried the score of birds 
who had cried, " Where/' a moment be- 
fore. " Don't interrupt our chairman," 
and they looked about accusingly at their 
neighbours. 

" Now that our meeting is fairly open 
and I have congratulated you all on our 
safe arrival north, I call for our secretary's 
report." 

A very grave old blackbird then hopped 
to the commanding limb occupied by 
the chairman and gave the following oral 
report. 

" At our last meeting, which was held 
about six months ago in this neighbour- 
hood, our roll call showed five hundred 
and twenty-seven members, in this divi- 



110 2!rrnant$ of ti^e ^vttn 

sion of the North American Purple 
Crackles Society. Since then we have 
lost about fifty members. Some from 
stress of weather, some from sickness, 
while a few have strayed to other flocks. 
We have spent a most prosperous six 
months in Southern New Jersey, and are 
returning to the north, which is our 
breeding ground, with a firm determina- 
tion to make our number one thousand 
strong before we fly south/' 

*' Good, good," cried a number of 
voices. " We will,*' piped an old 
grandpa, at the top of the tree. " Little 
you'll do about it," squawked a dozen 
young and gallant grackles. " Order, 
gentlemen," piped the chairman. " Do 
not interrupt your secretary." 

" It is the opinion of all of our com- 
pany that the libelous charges made by 
many ornithologists, that the grackles steal 



JWttcii atro ^tiout T!<fotJ|infl in 

the eggs and even eat the young of other 
birds is hereby stoutly disputed as an in- 
famous falsehood, that merely shows the 
ignorance of the learned gentlemen. If 
it is not too strong language, your secre- 
tary hereby characterizes ornithologists 
as red-nosed, goggle-eyed, old fools, who 
couldn't fly if they had wings, and whose 
eggs would not hatch even if they were 
smart enough to lay them." 

This sally so pleased the female grackles 
that their piping and squawking drowned 
the voice of the secretary, and it was 
several seconds before the chairman could 
restore order. 

" I appreciate your mirth, ladies," he 
said, when he could make himself heard, 
" but please be quiet." 

"Although hardly a part of my report," 
continued the secretary, " I can inform 
this assembly that our cousin redwing 



112 tEtn^nt^ of tftt tUvttu 

arrived in this vicinity yesterday. He 
has taken up his quarters in the meadow 
near by. He told me that our gay cousins, 
Bahimore oriole and bobolink, told him 
before he left that they intended to start 
north in about two weeks if the weather 
held good, so we can expect them in 
about that time. This is the end of my 
report. Now do what you please with 
it." 

On motion of the old grandpa at the 
top of the tree, the report was unani- 
mously accepted, and the piping and 
croaking that recorded the vote were fairly 
deafening. 

"I have a matter of grave importance," 
piped the old grackle when the noise had 
subsided. " It seems to me that it is most 
important that we go to some place that 
will help our phthisic." 

"Can't you ever learn to cairit asthma. 



J«ucti ^iro anottt :Nrotf)infl ii3 

grandpa?'' asked a chorus of impatient 
voices, " it sounds so much better." 

" It was phthisic, when I was hatched," 
squawked the old grackle, " and I guess 
it is phthisic now. I don't see but we 
are just as wheezy now as we were then. 
For myself I want to see our voices im- 
proved. I would like to see the family 
ranked among the sweet singers. Why, 
I think I could be a lark if I had the 



voice." 



This confession from the old grackle 
brought a shout of mirth from the tree. 

" Get an oil-can and oil grandpa's 
throat," piped an old female grackle. 

** Guess it would take more than that," 
said the chairman, gravely, when quiet 
reigned again. " I am afraid that the 
grackle family will never be called good 
singers. We must be content with our 
wonderful plumage, which I think I may 



114 Etn^ntu of tfjr Zvttn 

say without vanity is the finest in the 
land." 

** What of scarlet tanager ? '' piped some 
one. 

*• His dress is too gay and gaudy," 
croaked the chairman with decision. '* He 
is loud and not refined. The grackle is 
the only tasty dresser in the bird family. 
But I think we have discussed these and 
other topics quite fully, and I now declare 
the meeting adjourned and I will lead 
you for a martial flight. Now mind and 
don't crowd, and wheel when I give the 
word. Ready, fly." 

There was a whir of wings that made 
the old elm fairly alive, as the black cloud 
that cast a shadow on the ground rose in 
air and flew away towards the meadow. 
About twenty rods away they wheeled 
suddenly to the right, and made for the 
river, then they wheeled again and in 



J«uci| itiro aiiottt WotJjin© ii5 

a few seconds were back in the old 
elm. 

" Bravo/' cried their leader. " When 
we get our wind, we will be off for a 
longer flight. I think I will take you all 
up the river a mile or two to an island 
where there is always a good supply of 
weed seed this time of year. We can 
make a good meal there. Are you ready ? 
This is a longer flight." 

" Ready,'* piped a score of voices. 
" Fly," shrilled the leader, and the black 
cloud rose again, and with the whir of 
many wings was oflf. 

I strained eyes and ears after the flying 
cloud, and as long as I could see them, 
could hear the discordant piping. It was 
a safe prediction that their chairman had 
made. 

The voice of the grackle never would 
be musical. I was convinced of that. 



CJ)atterboi'5 J^istafee 



pATTER, patter, little feet. 

In the morning cool and sweety 
Patter, patter on the wall, 
In the treetops green and tall. 
Chatter, chatter on the fence. 
Just as though he was immense^ 
Chatter, chatter without scrimp. 
What a gleeful little imp. 



VIII 

CHATTERBOX'S MISTAKE 

/^ H E-atteratter-atter-chit-chee-e-e-e-e- 
^^ Who-o-o- Do-o-o-o- I see-e-e-e, under 
my tre-e-e-e-. 

The Chatterbox frisked frantically 
about in the top of the old maple un- 
der which I was sitting. 

It always made him angry even to 
have me walk through the woods. I 
never molested him, or even returned 
the bad names that he called me, but this 
part of the woods was his particular prop- 
erty and all trespassing was forbidden on 
his premises. The red rascal's domain 
consisted of about an acre of beech and 
maple woods at the edge of the forest, 
and also included the apple orchard near 

119 



120 ^muntu of tJie Evttu 

by. He was a male squirrel, noisy and 
combative, and the title to his strip of 
woods had been gained by long occupa- 
tion and many scrimmages with his fel- 
low red-coats, not to mention the chip- 
munk who always ran at his approach. 

So you see, according to the ethics of 
the woods, the Chatterbox was their 
rightful owner and his title was fully 
recognized as part of the unwritten by- 
laws of the forest. So I really had no 
right in his woods, although my neigh- 
bours had placed certain boundary stones 
and allotted to me the forest. 

To-day I was doing more than tres- 
passing, for I had presumed to sit under 
one of the red rascal's trees, and, to add 
to this great offence, was strumming on a 
banjo. 

Now, if the Chatterbox had been a 
musician himself, like bobolink or oriole* 



mutttvtov'u mt^tmt 121 

I should not have wondered at his rage, 
but being a very noisy fellow, fond of fill- 
ing the woods with discordant sounds, 
he should have sympathized with me in 
my musical efforts ; instead, however, he 
took them much amiss. 

One moment he would dash down the 
trunk of the tree, within eight or ten 
feet of me, as though he had a mind to 
spring upon my head and eat me up ; 
then he would frisk back into the top of 
the tree again, all the time scolding 
and barking at the top of his lungs. 
His tail twitched, his head bobbed, his 
eyes snapped, and altogether he was the 
angriest bit of fur that ever raved 
against the intrusions of man into the 
forest. 

Finally his curiosity got the better of 
his rage, as it always does, and he came 
down to within a few feet of me, and sat 



122 tenants ot Ujr Evttu 

quietly watching and listening as I picked 
the strings. 

Hymns and soft low melodies seemed 
to soothe him, and put him in a quiet 
mood, but the gayer tunes set his little 
feet to dancing and his tongue to scold- 
ing and barking in the liveliest manner. I 
imagine he thought the banjo was abusing 
him when the notes fell thick and fast, 
and so he scolded back, giving full meas- 
ure for all he received. 

When I stopped picking the strings 
and drummed on the head, and whistled 
in imitation of drum and fife he was all 
attention. He cocked his head on one 
side and hung intently on the notes, and 
when the strain was finished, rushed up 
the tree trunk, chattering gleefully. He 
was not angry any more, but just happy. 
There is all the difl^erence in the world 
between the scolding of a squirrel, and 



etiattertior's JHistafee 123 

his gleeful chatter. His scolding is 
harsh and spiteful, while his chatter is 
noisy, but full of good feeling. 

I took the banjo to the woods for sev- 
eral days and finally the red rogue got 
to like it better even than I did, for he 
would scold, when I stopped for too long 
a time. 

I think that he considered me a sort 
of " Pied Piper '' and thought my queer 
machine some kind of trap, for he was 
always watchful and rather suspicious. 
Maybe this was merely his wild instinct 
that considered all men and all devices 
of men harmful until they had been 
thoroughly tested. 

The birds were never attracted by my 
playing, probably because they were 
musicians themselves, so the Chatterbox 
was my one regular listener during those 
pleasant summer afternoons. 



124 ^munt^ of tije ^vtm 

I could always tell him from his fel- 
lows. He was larger than they, and his 
face was quite gray, which I took to in- 
dicate age, but wisdom and discretion I 
do not think he ever possessed. 

Our acquaintance had continued off 
and on for nearly a month, when it was 
cut short in a most unexpected manner. 
At least, it was unexpected to me, but I 
suppose the unexpected and the tragical 
is the natural way of living and dying in 
the woods. 

My friend the Chatterbox was late in 
coming to our trysting tree this day, but 
at last I saw him, running at the top of 
his speed. He was not racing along in 
the top of the trees, as he frequently did, 
but running on the ground, jumping 
from point to point in a rapid, zigzag 
flight. 

At first I did not discover what made 



Ciiattnliop's ifWistafee 125 

him run in such a helter skelter manner, 
but presently I noticed a small creature 
of about his own size, following him 
closely. The second comer was brown, 
and from his swift gliding motion I 
knew he was a weasel, even before I saw 
his snakelike head. Although it was a 
life and death game for the Chatterbox, 
there was something in the gliding mo- 
tion of the weasel that fascinated the red 
squirrel, for occasionally he would partly 
turn his head and watch his pursuer, and 
the weasel always gained upon him at 
these times. 

Over logs and through bits of under- 
brush, into deep bunches of ferns and 
tangles of scrub hemlock they raced, the 
squirrel fleeing wildly, and the weasel fol- 
lowing relentlessly. 

At last they came to within three or 
four rods of where I sat, and the squirrel 



126 ^tnuntu of tfje STtees 

fled up a tall maple, the weasel following 
ten or fifteen feet behind. 

" Now you have lost him, you blood- 
thirsty little wretch,'' I thought, for I 
imagined that the Chatterbox would run 
to the top of the tree, and then out on a 
limb and jump to the ground. 

The weasel would follow to the top 
of the tree, but would not take the jump. 
A red squirrel can spread himself out flat, 
and, using his tail as a rudder, come down 
easily and lightly from almost any height. 
The weasel who is more rotund falls 
heavily, and his tail is not bushy enough 
to make it of any use as a rudder. 

This would all have been as ** easy as 
rolling off a log '' had not the Chatterbox 
lost his head just as he was at the point 
of escape, and holed in the tree. A sec- 
ond later the weasel flashed in after him. 

There was a prolonged and frightened 




THE WEASEL APPEARED, BRINGING THE LIMP FORM OF 
THE CHATTERBOX WITH HIM. " 



©Jiatttertiors Jttistafte 127 

chip-p-p- that ended in an agonized 
squeak and all was still. 

After about five minutes the weasel 
appeared, bringing the limp form of the 
Chatterbox with him. He dropped the 
squirrel to the ground and then came cau- 
tiously down, moving his snakelike head 
from side to side whenever he stopped. 
His chops were red with blood, and his 
cruel glittering eyes were bloodshot. 

At the foot of the tree he first noticed 
me, and after viewing me intently, he 
glided away into the ferns in search of 
other victims. 

I picked up the Chatterbox and saw 
his throat had been slit, and his life blood 
drained. There was no other mark upon 
him. 

But he was no longer the gay Chatter- 
box, frisking and scolding, only a limp 
little bunch of muscles and sinews. His 



128 ^Ttnantjs of tt)e E^vttu 

coat was still beautiful, but the one thing 
that made him interesting to me was 
gone. His life had been taken for a few 
drops of blood. 



Cfje ILittle JHocfemg Bitti 



TT is such fun down in the grass to lie 
And feel the breezes as they gallop by. 
And hear them stir the clover and the corn, — * 
It makes you feel real glad that you are born. 



IX 

THE LITTLE MOCKING BIRD 

IT was luxuriant lying in the tall 
meadow grass that enfolded one 
like the arms of his mother. The blue 
sky, in which there was no sadness, was 
above, and the great heart of the old 
earth was throbbing like a mighty engine 
under me. The grass was cool and many 
patterned, and in among its tangles was a 
very busy world of ants and, insects, all 
working or eating as the mood seized 
them. But the deepest joy of all was the 
gleeful babble of the little brook that 
prattled like a very happy child. 

It gurgled and cooed, dimpled, smiled 
and laughed, and suddenly, without the 

131 



132 ^tnuntu of ifft Evttn 

slightest cause, fell into a fit of melan- 
choly just under a dark tangle of wil- 
lows. It was not a weeping willow, but 
one could hear half stifled sobs as the 
brook slipped beneath its roots. 

Is it any wonder that water is so often 
used as the symbol of life and youth ? 
De Leon spent a life-time searching for 
the fountain of life, that he might bathe 
in it, and put on abiding youth. We are 
also told in holy writ of the great white 
throne, and the fountain of eternal life. 
The little child dabbles his hands in the 
brook and laughs at the gentle lapping of 
its current. Even the old wrinkled-faced 
man cannot resist the childish inclination, 
and he needs must trail his hand in the 
water when the canoe glides smoothly 
down the stream. How pure is this 
symbol of life ! How clearly it reflects 
the light of heaven ! Men cannot defile 



mt muu iwocftiufl mvn 133 

it for long. Though they fill its current 
with rubbish, the little stream will be as 
pure and untainted the following day, as 
though it had not been defiled. It can- 
not contain grossness any more than the 
spirit of love can entertain hate. All day 
long it cleanses its heart that the stars of 
night may behold their brightness in its 
bosom. 

There was a soft twitter in a deep 
clump of alder bushes near by, and a mo- 
ment later the full song of the hermit 
thrush, joy-laden as the breath of morn- 
ing and sweet as the notes of the flute, 
floated out on the air. Again and again 
the song was repeated, while I listened 
breathlessly. I had never heard this rare 
songster so near before, and the experi- 
ence thrilled me with a poet's delight. 
The song ceased and the very silence 
seemed to be calling for more, when the 



134 ^tnant^ of tlje ^vttn 

tender notes of the Baltimore oriole, 
which is the true robin, stole out on the 
morning stillness. Louder and louder 
the song swelled, until I could imagine 
the heaving breast of the songster under 
his orange coat. For the space of thirty 
seconds there was absolute silence in the 
thicket, and then a song sparrow rattled 
out a shower of notes, like the patter of 
April rain, clear as a piccolo, and won- 
derfully phrased. 

Had all the birds of the countryside 
congregated in this alder bush, just to 
give me a sample of their respective 
songs? I was quite agreeable, so held 
my breath and listened. 

I could have tumbled into the brook 
with astonishment when the lightning 
crescendo of the bobolink, pure as the 
clink of crystal, and rich as love's own 
wordless ditty, fell like a rhapsody from 



E^t atttle i«otft(nfl mvTf 135 

heaven upon my astonished ear. Up and 
down the scale he raced in mad ecstasy, 
almost tearing his little heart out in his 
vain attempt to express all that life, and 
light, and breath of morning w^ere to him. 
It made me feel ashamed of my own shal- 
lowness, and wonder if there were not 
after all a world of joy in my very nostrils 
that I was blindly unconscious of. 

When gay Robert Lincoln ceased it 
was as though a lamp of dazzling bright- 
ness had been removed from a scene 
dearly loved, and all was darkness. 

I was too much entranced by this bird 
chorus from the clump of alder to con- 
sider its origin, but listened in stupid 
silence, like a spellbound child. 

What was that ! Could it be that here 
in broad daylight, the soft and unutterable 
evening prayer of the veery was falling 
in notes as pure as dew drops or the tears 



136 Emuntn of tiie Evttn 

of angels ? This was no bird, but a spirit, 
the soul of some departed saint, praying 
in the bush. It was too pure for earth, 
too deep for words, and was the mirage 
of man's thought of God, his holy of 
holies. At a touch, a gross suggestion, 
it would vanish like the mists of morn- 
ing. 

Then there was a rustle and a flutter 
in the bush, and the leaves parted to dis- 
close the gray coat of a catbird, who bal- 
anced himself upon a slender twig and 
eyed me curiously. 

" Mew-e-e Pew-e-e, Mew-e-e,'* he 
called derisively. " Mew-e-e, Pew-e-e,'* 
again and again, as though he thought 
the joke too good to pass lightly by, and 
would din it into my cranium that he 
was just an ordinary catbird. Mew-e-e, 
Mew-e-e, Pew-e-e. 



^ (Jlentleman in Black 



T^LY high, fly low, the breezes blow. 

The earth is green and sweet. 
At the farmer s law we all say pshaw, 

For corn was made to eat. 
Laiv, law, law, pshaw, pshaw, pshaw. 
Hoc, whoa, haw, caw, caw, caw. 

Who gave the corn on eartWs first morn. 

Who brought the tassels out. 
Who sheds the rain o'er mead and plain. 

Until the stalks are stout? 
At the farmer's law we all say pshaw. 
Hoc, whoa, haw, caw, caw, caw. 



X 

A GENTLEMAN IN BLACK 

\ GENTLEMAN in black sat on the 
-^ ^ top of a hemlock-tree at the edge 
of the woods, watching a farmer who 
was ploughing in a near-by field. It was 
very pleasant for the old crow to behold 
the farmer's industry. " For/' thought 
the crow, as he sat upon his lofty perch 
sunning, " ploughing means planting, and 
planting means pulling." 

The thought of fresh green shoots of 
young corn so filled the black imp with 
mirth, that he arched his neck and flung 
his full-throated salutation across the 
fields. 

The farmer stopped his team to see 
from what quarter so lusty a call came 

139 



140 ^tnuntu of ti^e ^vttn 

and muttered, half angrily, when he saw 
the crow : 

" You old rascal, I will bet a dollar 
you are watching me, merely to spy out 
where I plant my corn, that you may 
pull it. But have a care, I shall not let 
you off as easily this year, as I did last. 
If a scarecrow does not frighten you, I 
will see what virtue there is in a shotgun." 
The old crow had been so intent on 
watching the farmer that he did not 
notice a very insignificant bird, who was 
perched on a scrub apple-tree in the field 
near by. Presently the little stranger set 
up a great chatter, and started for the 
hemlock where the crow was sitting. 
Now to fly away from a bird so much 
smaller than one's self was most cowardly, 
so the crow hitched about uneasily on 
his perch, but stayed where he was. 
This just suited the chattering little 



^ (RttUltmun in iSlaciK i4i 

fury from the apple-tree and he flew 
straight at the dignified gentleman in 
black, picking at his eyes viciously. 

" Keep off," squawked the old crow. 
" I don't want you. I have half a mind 
to kill you.'' 

" That's what I'm here for," chattered 
the fury, and he flew at the crow again 
and again, striking him upon the head or 
back at each swoop. 

Then the kingbird (or bee martin as 
he is also called) was joined by his mate, 
and they immediately made it so hot for 
the poor crow, that he flew away at his 
best pace and left the smaller birds mas- 
ters of the field. This seemed to tickle 
them greatly, and with endless chatter 
they flew back to the apple-tree in the 
mowing. 

There is more audacity and clear grit 
tucked away in that little bunch of 



142 Etnnntu of tlie tRvttn 

feathers that we call the kingbird, than 
in any other creature that flies. 

I have frequently seen a kingbird, who 
looked like the merest speck in compari- 
son, chasing the largest hen hawk across 
the fields at the hawk's liveliest pace. 
He would dart at the larger bird as vi- 
ciously as a bee, and occasionally, as though 
to show his contempt for his great ad- 
versary, would light upon the hawk's 
back and peck away with might and 
main at his head and shoulders. That 
must have been a ride indeed, something 
to remember and be proud of, — to sit 
upon the back of a magnificent hawk and 
drive him at will, while the old earth 
dotted with farm-houses, and checkered 
with grain fields, slipped by under one at 
the rate of sixty or seventy miles an hour. 
I doubt not, if the largest eagle that ever 
spread wings should come his way, that 



a (KtnUtmm in JSiarft 143 

this little terror would go after him as 
fearlessly as he did after the hawk. 

The discomfited crow who had been 
forced to leave his watch-tower at the 
top of the hemlock, by a pair of little 
kingbirds, felt that his dignity had been 
greatly hurt. His pride had been so 
humbled that he was in very bad spirits. 
But as good luck would have it, the very 
first light that he made was in a tall 
bushy-topped beech, where he discovered 
an owFs nest. This at once put him in 
good spirits, and he flew away calling for 
his fellows at the top of his voice. The 
crow loves to torment a hawk or owl as 
well as the kingbird does a crow, and in 
a very short time the trees about the 
beech were black with them. 

With his usual prudence, the sagacious 
old leader posted two or three alert crows 
as sentries in trees near by, that no one 



144 Ztnmitu of t^t Evtm 

might steal upon them at the height of 
their sport, and the fun began. 

First, they amused themselves by 
merely circling about the tree, keeping 
up such a cawing that the noise was al- 
most deafening. But by degrees they 
grew bolder, and occasionally a crow 
would dart into the tree, where two 
winking, blinking great horned owls sat, 
guarding their nest from this noisy horde. 

They did not much fear the crows, but 
it was most annoying to have the quiet 
of their home so invaded by such a noisy 
company. 

Finally the noisy gentleman in black 
perched on a limb within six or eight feet 
of the nest, and began deriding the two 
yellow-eyed creatures. 

" Ca-a-t-t-s-s- Ca-a-t-t-s-s- " he called, 
his remark being intended to describe 
the catlike face of the owl. 



a HKtntltm^n in MUtU 145 

" Who, who ? " asked the owl, wink- 
ing and blinking at the intruder. 

" If I was an owl, with wings like a fowl, 
And eyes like a bat, and a face like a cat, 
rd go to the brook ; with my beak like a hook, 
I'd tear out my eyes, and change my whole guise. 
Law, law, law ! Caw, caw, caw ! " 

screamed the crow. 

" Who, who, if I were you, the same I'd do. 
But as all men know, a noisy crow is but a blow. 
You, you, you," 

hooted the owl. 

This retort so angered the clan that a 
score of them settled on the beech and 
cawed themselves hoarse, but the two 
solemn owls made no reply. 

At this point in the fun one of the 
sentinels gave the signal of alarm, and 
the entire clan flew away to another part 



146 ^tn^ntu of tJie ^vttu 

of the woods, the gentleman in black 
leading the way. 

"What was it?" asked the leader, of 
the sentinel, when the clan was again 
quiet. 

" A boy with a Thunder Stick," re- 
plied the crow. " I saw him just as he 
began to creep up on us and gave the cry. 
Perhaps he will find the owls' nest. He 
will know surely that something was up, 
for we don't have such a concert as that 
every day. He will think it was a hawk, 
or an owl if he isn't a fool. Guess he 
wanted one of us to hang in his cornfield." 

A few days later, the old crow was 
again perched on his favourite limb in the 
hemlock at the edge of the woods, watch- 
ing the farmer plant his corn. 

It took two or three days to plant the 
entire field, and the crow was as much 
interested in the process as the farmer" him- 



a ©rntltman in Slacfe 147 

self. When it had been completed the 
gentleman in black flew away and told 
the clan, and there was a great rejoicing 
in the deep woods, the noise of which 
could have been heard for a quarter of a 
mile. 

The following day the crow saw the 
farmer do some very queer things, which 
he did not quite understand. 

He had brought a lot of small poles in 
the wagon, and these he stuck in the 
ground at regular intervals along the 
edge of the field. When the poles were 
all planted, he fastened string from one 
to another until the field was entirely 
fenced with string. 

** O, ho," chuckled the crow. " Does 
he think it will keep us out ? We can 
fly either over or under it, just as though 
nothing were there.'' But it looked quite 
queer to see a field fenced off with string 



148 ^m^ntn of tiie SCtees 

and the cautious leader was rather sus- 
picious. 

Then the farmer drove a stake about 
six feet high at one corner of the field, 
and nailed another shorter stake across it, 
about four feet from the ground. 

Next he pulled some straw, and some 
black looking things from a bag, and al- 
most before the crow had guessed what the 
farmer was doing, the cross-like stake had 
been changed into a queer-looking man, 
but his insides were nothing but straw. 

When the farmer had stuffed out the 
man good and round, and had put a hat 
on his head, he looked quite like another 
farmer, whom the first farmer might 
have got to stand in the corner of the 
field, and keep the crows away. But the 
gentleman in black knew it was all a 
trick, for he had seen the man made. 

When the farmer had gone home^ the 



a ©entleman in iSlatlte 149 

crow flew down and critically examined 
all that he had done. He was quite 
cautious at first, but finally was so sure 
that the man was only a trick that he lit 
on one of his shoulders, and pecked at 
his straw face. If the farmer could have 
seen the old crow pecking the eyes out 
of his scarecrow an hour after he had set 
it up, he would have felt very cheap, and 
his respect for the crow would have been 
greatly increased. 

After about ten days, the leader reported 
to the clan that the corn was up, and they 
settled on the field one morning, and made 
sad work with several rows. The farmer 
discovered it the same day, and the fol- 
lowing morning was in waiting with the 
Thunder Stick. 

He had often read that the crow could 
count, so thought he would test his power 
with figures. 



150 Ztnant^ ot tlje ^vtt^ 

He made what is called a blind. This 
was done by cutting three or four small 
pines or hemlocks, and sticking them up 
in the ground side by side. This made a 
screen behind which he could hide. 

First he took one hired man with him, 
and both went into the blind. After a 
few moments the hired man went away 
to a different field, and left the farmer 
with the Thunder Stick. 

The crows were watching them from 
the woods, and saw two men go into the 
blind and only one come out ; so they 
knew that the other was waiting there 
to do them harm, and they did not go 
to the field. 

The farmer knew by this that they 
could count two. So he got two hired 
men and the three went into the blind, 
two going away after a few minutes, as 
the one had done before ; but the crows 



a CSfrntleman (u ©lacft i5i 

still stayed at the edge of the woods, and 
the farmer knew that they could count 
three. 

Then he took three men, and the four 
went into the blind with no better suc- 
cess. The crows could also count four. 

Finally he took four men and the five 
went into the blind, four going away after 
a few minutes, as the three had done. 

After a noisy consultation the old 
leader of the clan flopped down into the 
cornfield, and the farmer knew that they 
could not count five and he had tricked 
them at last. 

" Bang," went the Thunder Stick, and 
its echo rolled away to the woods. The 
clan flew away in every direction, but not 
so the gentleman in black. He started 
to fly, but one of his wings crippled 
under him, and he flopped helplessly 
upon the ground. 



152 ^Ttnanti^ ot tfft ^vuu 

" O, ho, my fine fellow," cried the 
farmer, " so you will pull my corn will 
you ? I will teach you better." 

At first he thought he would wring 
the crow's neck and hang him in the 
field, but a better thought came to him. 
So he fastened a piece of wire to the 
crow's leg, and then tethered him with a 
long string. This left the crow free to 
flop about for a rod or two, but he could 
not fly away to the woods with his 
fellows. 

The farmer's plan worked like a charm, 
for whenever the captive crow saw the 
clan coming his way, he at once gave the 
danger call, and they always flew away. 

A month dragged slowly by, and al- 
though the crow was still a captive, yet 
he was treated very well for a thief. The 
farmer occasionally threw him a handful 
of grain, and this, with what he could 





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HE FELL UPON THE WOULD-BE LEADER, BEAK AND CLAW. 



a entntUmm in iJlacft 153 

pick up within the length of his cord, 
kept him fairly well. 

At the end of that time the corn was 
four or five inches high, and the farmer 
did not fear the crows any more. 

So one morning he untied the cord 
from the captive's leg, and gave him a 
toss into the air. 

The crow had been merely winged, 
and the broken end of the feathers had 
grown out enough during the month of 
his captivity, so that he could fly fairly 
well. 

He made all haste to the woods, where 
he found the new leader of the clan sitting 
on his particular hemlock. At the sight 
of the one who had dispossessed him, a 
great fury seized the gentleman in black, 
and he fell upon the would-be leader, 
beak and claw ; and clawing, pecking and 
cawing, the two went tumbling down 



154 ^Ttnantfs of tf^t ^vttu 

through the limbs of the hemlock, and 
landed in a black heap at the foot of the 
tree. 

In the very first round of the scrim- 
mage, the old crow picked out one of 
the eyes of the new leader, which dis- 
qualified him for leadership. So the in- 
dignant crow did not punish him further, 
but flew away to find his clan, well satis- 
fied with the way things had turned 
out. 

When it was learned how he had 
worsted his rival, he was at once reinstated 
as leader, and he led the clan wisely for 
many years ; but his disgruntled rival was 
chased out of the vicinity and never al- 
lowed to return. 

It is needless to say that the old crow 
gained wisdom during his month's cap- 
tivity in the cornfield, and although he 
permitted the clan to pull corn, he would 



^ HKtntUman in mutU i55 

never accompany them on any of these 
expeditions. 

" My wings and tail feathers are too 
valuable to be pulled out by hailstones 
from the Thunder Stick/' he w^ould say, 
when rallied about his fear of the farmer. 
"You gentlemen may all go, but don't 
blame me if you do not come back." 



Jeter's (j^ooti jTortune 



yj LITTLE home within a tree, 
"^ And yet it held a world of joy. 
Until there came a thoughtless hoy 
And left a trail of misery. 



XI 
PETER'S GOOD FORTUNE 

T ITTLE Peter lay in a snow-white 
^^ cot in a long white ward of the 
children's hospital. His wan face was 
only a shade or two darker than the pil- 
low upon which it lay. It was a thin little 
face pinched by want and suffering, and 
a mere shadow of what it should have 
been. His eyes were sunken, and one 
wondered as he gazed into their sad wist- 
ful depths, if they had ever danced with 
joy, in the child's whole life, which, 
judging from his size, was about seven 
years. It might have been more, how- 
ever, for city children are often dwarfed 
by bad air, and poor nourishment, until 

159 



160 Etnantu of tJir Zvttu 

their age can not be accurately told by 
their size. 

When they asked him at the hos- 
pital how old he was, he did not know. 
Father and mother he had none, and his 
home had been the city streets. Any old 
box or barrel that would hold a dog was 
good enough for him. 

By rare good luck, Peter nau been 
knocked down by a fashionable team the 
week before, and he now had a sweet 
clean bed to sleep in, and plenty of good 
food to eat. 

He loved to lie quietly and watch the 
nurses, as they glided noiselessly up and 
down, ministering to the little sufferers. 
They had such kind faces that it made 
Peter's heart glow just to look at them. 
Somehow his idea of the world had 
greatly changed since he came to the 
hospital. Before he had thought it a 



^tttv'^ CKootr iFortune lei 

very cold hard place. The only people 
who had noticed him, were hurrying, 
bustling men and women, who told him 
to get out of the way, or burly policemen 
who advised him to move on. Like 
Dickens's Joe, in " Bleak House," he had 
longed for some place where he would 
not have to move on, and he had found 
it at last, in the children's hospital. 
Here he could lie very quietly, and be 
quite happy with his broken leg. 

When the nurses or the doctor asked 
him how he was, he always said, " Very 
well indeed, ma'am," at which they 
smiled, and looked pityingly at his 
pinched face, and great sad eyes. 

Six weeks went by, and although the 
leg was doing nicely, yet the patient little 
fellow that they called number seventeen 
still looked as though a good breath 
would blow him away. He was per- 



162 Ztnuntn of ti^t Zvttu 

fectly happy and contented, but he had 
no desire to move about like the other 
children who were getting better. Peter 
was certainly getting better, for he told 
the doctor and the nurses every day that 
he was. 

But they thought differently, so one 
day they told Peter that he was to go into 
the country for the summer, and get 
some tan on his face and some roses in 
his cheeks. 

He did not know what that meant, but 
as they were very good to him at the 
hospital, he thought it must be for his 
good, and quietly consented. 

So one day after taking a heart-break- 
ing farewell of his nurses, Peter was 
wrapped in a blanket, and strong arms 
bore him to a carriage in waiting, 
which rolled rapidly away, across the city 
to the depot. Here he was placed in 



^tttv'n (Kootr iFotttttte i63 

an easy position, where he soon fell 
asleep. 

Peter never could tell just where he 
went, or how he got there. He was so 
tired that he slept nearly all the time, but 
finally he remembered being laid in a 
little bedroom, and the next thing he 
knew it was morning in the country, and 
a breeze, sweeter than anything he had 
ever smelled before, was blowing in 
through the open window. 

He was just wondering where he was, 
and how long he had slept, when the 
door opened, and a motherly-looking 
woman, with a bright face, and a cheery 
voice, entered. 

" How are you this morning, my little 
man .? " she asked, laying her hand upon 
Peter's head. There was something in 
the touch that brought a great lump into 
the boy's throat ; he had never felt a 



164 Etnuntu of tiie ^vttn 

hand like that before, but he cleared his 
throat and answered with his usual cheer- 
fulness : 

" Much better, ma'am. I think I will 
be well to-morrow/' 

The lady laughed and told Peter that 
she thought he would, either to-morrow 
or the next day, and they were the best 
of friends from that hour. 

" Did you make them beautiful red 
things along the edge of the window ? " 
asked Peter, pointing to the open win- 
dow through which the morning sun was 
streaming. 

*' I don't see any red things,'' replied 
the lady. " Where, child ? " 

" Why, all along the edge of the 
window. Don't you see them flop- 
ping around when the breeze hits 
them?" 

" Why, child, those are roses. Don't 



^tttv'u <ffioolr :ffovtunt 165 

you know what roses are ? Didn't you 
ever see any before ? " 

** Yes," replied Peter, " I had some 
given to me one day by a beautiful lady 
who came into the hospital, and I 
thought she made them herself; but 
they didn't have any bush to them." 

" No, they were broken off like this," 
replied the lady, and she went to the 
window and pulled off the very largest 
one, which she gave Peter. 

Peter caught it from her hand with a 
cry of delight, and buried his nose in the 
sweet petals. 

Then a disturbed look came into his 
face. 

" Didn't it hurt, when you took it ? 
When I was first sick, the doctor used to 
pull my leg and it hurt awfully, and he 
didn't pull it off either." 

" No, I guess it doesn't hurt," said the 



166 t!Ctnantu of ttft SCvees 

lady smiling. " Anyway they would 
wither up, and die in a few days." 

" What a pity,'' said Peter, " that any- 
thing so beautiful should die." 

" I've brought you some milk to 
drink," said Peter's new friend. ** I 
want you to drink lots of milk every day 
and get strong." 

Peter took the mug, but looked doubt- 
fully into its contents. " That ain't so 
blue looking as our milk," he said. " I 
guess it is a different kind." 

** I guess it is too," replied the lady. 
" That is right from the cow." 

" Then that's the reason," said Peter re- 
assured. " Milk in the city all comes 
out of cans, and of course that would be 
different from milk out of a cow, but it 
is good." 

You would have been surprised to have 
seen how the milk from the cow, and fresh 



mttv'u ©ootr iFottttue i67 

laid eggs, together with the sweet breath 
of the country air, put roses in Peter's 
cheeks, but it was not until he got out of 
doors, that the tan of which the doctor 
had spoken appeared. 

He was the happiest child imaginable 
when he could sit by the open window 
and look out. "Whew,'' he cried, half 
to himself and half to the good lady 
whom he had learned to call Aunt 
Ruth. " I guess you people must be 
awful rich. Richer'n any one in New 
York." 

" Goodness, child," exclaimed the lady, 
" I guess you are mistaken in thinking 
that. We don't owe any one, and that is a 
blessing, but we ain't rich. Why, we 
would be called just comfortable in the 
country." 

" How can you afford so much of it ? " 
then asked Peter doubtfully. 



168 ^mantn of ifft ^vttn 

** What, child? We don't own any- 
thing extravagant that I know of/' 

" Why, the grass," said Peter, " it's 
awful expensive. Why, the richest folks 
in New York don't have only a little 
piece as big as this room. They can't 
afford it." 

Aunt Ruth laughed until her sides 
ached. *' Grass don't cost much of any- 
thing in the country," she said ; ** it just 
grows, that's all." 

" My, but that must be awful nice," 
cried Peter, taking a deep breath of the 
fragrant air. " If I ever get to be a man 
I am going to live in the country. 
Where does your cop live. Aunt 
Ruth?" 

'' Cop, child ; are you flighty ? See 
here, let me feel of your head. You are 
getting along fine and I don't want you 
to go to getting a fever. Your head is 



^tttv'u (ffiootr ffovtnm i69 

cool as a cucumber, Peter. What put 
that cop notion into your head ? It gave 
me an awful start." 

" I didn't mean to scare you/' returned 
Peter sorrowfully, " but I thought sure 
you would have to have a cop ter keep 
the people off the grass, you have got so 
much of it.*' 

" 'Twould cost ten times more than 
'twas worth,'' said Aunt Ruth. ** Grass 
is just grass in the country, and it grows 
everywhere, and people don't think of 
telling people to keep off it, without it is 
newly seeded." 

Peter did not know what that meant, 
but somehow he couldn't separate the 
idea of grass from great wealth, and he 
sat pondering in silence for several min- 
utes. Then he happened to look out at 
the sun that was just peeping around the 
corner of the house. " I guess that's a 



170 ^tn^ntn of tftt ^vun 

different sun from what we have down to 
New York, ain't it?'' asked Peter. 

** I never heard that you had a different 
one," replied the lady. " I didn't know 
that God had made more than one for 
these parts." 

" Well, it looks different, anyway," 
said Peter stoutly. " This sun is a good 
deal bigger and brighter, and he looks 
jolly and laughing, and our sun looks 
sorter pale and as though he was going to 
go out." 

" I guess the New York sun has got 
about tired of trying to get through the 
smoke and dust," said Aunt Ruth. " It 
must be mighty hard on him to have to 
send his beams way down in between 
them tall buildings." 

" Aunt Ruth," said Peter the follow- 
ing day, " there is one thing that I want 
to do awful when I get out doors, but I 



^tttv'^ ©ootr iFotrtttite i7i 

don't want to do anything to make Uncle 
Ephriam mad, he is so good. I think it 
would help to make me well." 

** What is it, child ? " asked Peter's new 
friend. 

" Why,*' replied Peter hesitatingly, 
" I am afraid Uncle Ephraim wouldn't 
like it, but if I could just roll in the 
grass out in the lot here, when I get out, 
I know I should be well in a minute. It is 
so fresh and green, but I am afraid it would 
cost too much and you are so good to me." 

Aunt Ruth turned away that Peter 
might not see the tears in her eyes and 
Peter's face fell. He had asked too 
much and the kind lady had turned her 
back on him. 

" O, never mind. Aunt Ruth," he said 
quickly, " I guess if I just look at it that 
will be enough." 

" Peter, child," said Aunt Ruth, laying 



172 Etnantu of tiie Zvtm 

her hand on his head in that way that 
always made a lump come into the boy's 
throat, " when you get out doors you just 
take the ten acre lot and roll from one 
end to the other, and if you lop down 
every spear of grass in the whole lot, I 
shan't care a cent, and if Uncle Ephraim 
says anything about it, why Fll send him 
to bed without his supper." 

They both had a good laugh at the 
idea of Uncle Ephraim's going to bed 
without his supper, and Peter looked 
forward more than ever to the day when 
he should get out of doors. 

The following day he surprised Aunt 
Ruth even more than he had by asking 
about the cop. 

" Aunt Ruth," he said, when she had 
made him comfortable for the morning 
on the porch, " do you and Uncle Eph- 
raim keep angels ?" 



J&tttv'n ffiootr iFottune 173 

"Land of liberty/' said that good lady, 
dropping her dish-cloth in her excite- 
ment, " what funny ideas you do get into 
your head. Now what got you that silly 
notion ?" 

" Why, I can see some from right here 
where I am sitting," replied Peter. 

" Well, well, I guess I had better come 
and look right off. I haven't ever seen 
an angel myself and I would like to know 
what they look like." 

Peter pointed with his finger to a dis- 
tant hillside, and Aunt Ruth laughed 
merrily. 

" Why, those are sheep," she said. 
"Don't you see they haven't any wings?" 

" That is so," said Peter, " but they 
are white as snow and I thought perhaps 
their wings would grow ; maybe they 
were just horned." 

Flowers were a passion with Peter and 



174 Ztnant^ of t^r ^vtm 

he would talk to them for an hour at a 
time. He had quaint names by which 
he always called them. 

Daisies were stars and pansies were 
faces. Morning-glories were trumpets 
and lilies were nice ladies. Dielytra was 
earrings and peonies were redheads. 
Dandelions were goldenheads and the 
buttercups were yellowfaces, while the 
queer Jack-in-the-pulpit was the little 
man in the box. 

Birds and squirrels also filled him with 
unspeakable pleasure, and he would as 
soon have thought of throwing a stone at 
Aunt Ruth as at one of them. 

The wind that whispered in the tree 
tops and the little brook that laughed 
through the meadows were his soul's 
delight. 

" How clean and pure everything is in 
the country. Aunt Ruth," he said, " I 



^tttx'u CJooir iFottitne 175 

should think everybody would want to 
be good here so as not to spoil all the 
beautiful things that God has made. 
Seems so God must have spent a pile of 
time making the country. He made it a 
good deal better than he did New York." 

" Man made the city, Peter, and God 
made the country ; that is the difference," 
said Aunt Ruth, and Peter pondered on 
what she had said. 

One day in midsummer, when the 
crutches had been thrown away and 
Peter was nearly well (although he still 
limped a little). Aunt Ruth proposed 
that he pick a box of flowers and send to 
the hospital, where there were still many 
little sufl^erers. 

Peter at once set to work. He was 
glad enough to do anything for these 
children, whom he remembered well, al- 
though his new life in the country had 



176 ^mant^ of ti&e ^vttn 

nearly driven all thoughts of the city from 
his mind. 

There were six bouquets packed away 
in the box that was finally sent, and a 
little note from Peter went with each 
one. Aunt Ruth wrote the notes for 
him, and he was very proud when all was 
ready and Uncle Ephraim took the box 
to the depot. 

The first was a bunch of buttercups 
and daisies with the following note : 
" For number eighteen, the little girl 
with a broken hip who was next to me. 
These are stars and yellowfaces. God 
made 'em and he made us all. I hope 
you will see the country before you go to 
heaven." 

The next was just dandelions with the 
following : ** These are for the little 
baby who had his throat cut open and an 
iron put in. I thought he would like 



mttv'u CKooir iFovtttue 177 

them because they are bright. I wish he 
could hear the lambs bleat. I know it 
would make him well." 

Then there was a bunch of violets tied 
with a bit of pink ribbon and this mes- 
sage. " Little faces that grow down by 
the brook. It is an awful jolly brook, 
full of bright pebbles, and it is always 
laughing and singing. I wish it ran 
right through the hospital." 

Then there were two other bouquets 
with pleasant childlike greetings from 
Peter to the little sufferers, and finally a 
large bunch of lilies, which Peter de- 
scribed as fine ladies, for the nurses who 
are so good to poor little children in St. 
Luke's Hospital. 

" Now who shall I say it is from ? " 
asked Aunt Ruth, when the box had been 
tied with a strong string and it was ready 
for the address. 



178 Ztn^nt^ of ttie 2Ctufii 

"From Mr. Peter — '' Peter's face 
fell. The endearing names of father and 
mother he had never known. The alley 
had been his home, and a box or barrel 
his bed. Two great tears welled over 
his eyelids and rolled down his cheek. 
" Just Peter Nuthin'," he sobbed. 

Aunt Ruth put her arms about him 
and drew him into her maternal lap. 
** Don't cry," she said, "I didn't think 
when I asked you." 

" Now ril just tell you what I am go- 
ing to do. Ephraim and I have been 
talking it over and we are about decided. 
I am going to put it Peter White. 
That's our name, and that means you 
are to stay right here and be our boy as 
long as you live." 

Peter thought his heart would burst 
with joy when he fully understood it all, 
but the lump in his throat was so large 



a^rtrv's c;ooJr iFottttnt 179 

that he could only hug Aunt Ruth and 
sob. 

He was not Peter Nuthin' after all, but 
Peter White, and as he looked at his own 
name written on the box in large letters, 
he was the proudest and happiest boy 
in the whole world. 



jfur 'Ci)at jFleto 



/I LITTLE bird comes 'peeking at the pane. 
His toes are cold out in the sleet and rainy 
His coat is slight y though well it fits his form. 
Poor little stranger in the driving storm. 

There's but a pane of glass 'twixt him and you 

And he is hungry, if you only knew, 

A bit of bread, O such a tiny mite, 

Would keep him warm all through the winter^ s night* 

He's pecking still to make you look his way, 
Fm hungry, sir, his manners plainly say. 
He only asks the crumbs upon the floor. 
You will not turn him hungry from your door. 

When he has supped, perhaps he'll sing to you. 
His song is slight, but it is brave and true. 
He'd sing you more, but it is all he knows 
And it is hard to sing with such cold toes. 



XII 
FUR THAT FLEW 

TTI THEN I was a lad of some seven 
^ ^ summers, I left my own home for 
a short time and went to spend a winter 
with my grandfather and grandmother, 
who lived in a neighbouring town. 

My grandmother was a great lover of 
all small creatures, and it was her particu- 
lar delight to feed the birds and squirrels 
in the winter time. 

Some pieces of meat nailed to the 
piazza posts and a box of corn and grain 
in the wagon-shed gave me a rare oppor- 
tunity to study the winter birds and the 
squirrels, who were only too glad to par- 
take of grandmother's bounty. 

On warm days I went with my grand- 

183 



184 ^Tenant!^ of ti|t ^vttu 

father into the woods where he was log- 
ging, and I shall never forget the spectral 
beauty of the snow-bound forest in the 
dead of winter. 

Some days the fir-trees would be bowed 
down almost to breaking by a heavy fall 
of new snow. Great masses of blue-green 
needles would be capped and gowned 
with spotless ermine. 

When the wind rustled through the 
branches, showers of tiny crystals would 
come sifting down, sparkling and glitter- 
ing in the sunlight. You wondered what 
the mysterious mound of snow under the 
spruces was, until you saw a bunch of 
bright laurel leaves pricking through. 

Everywhere there were tracks, — tracks 
large and small, some made by padded 
feet, and others scraggly and angular. 
The problem always arose as to just what 
animal or bird made the track ; which 



iFttt srtiat iFleto i85 

way he was going, and what his errand 
was. 

In many cases there were unmistakable 
evidences of murder, which, by the way, 
is lawful in the woods, especially if one 
is hungry. All the way from the poles 
to the tropics the cottontail, who is one 
of the prettiest creatures in the woods, is 
food for other and larger animals. The 
lynx, the wildcat, the wolverine, the 
martin, the weasel, and many varieties of 
foxes, all prey on the poor cottontail, who 
thrives and multiplies in spite of his 
many enemies. 

One day my grandfather came home 
from the woods bringing something in 
his mittens. He held each mitten by 
the wrist and there was a wiggling and 
squirming going on inside. 

He told me to go to the attic for an 
old squirrel cage, and when it had been 



186 Etn^nt^ ot tilt Zvttn 

made ready he pushed into the cage as 
pretty a pair of flying squirrels as ever 
made a boy's eyes dance. I did not even 
know what they were until I was told, 
for they were quite different from any 
squirrel that I had ever seen. 

They were a little darker than the ordi- 
nary gray squirrel, with broad bushy tails. 
Their heads were rather small, with beau- 
tiful soft eyes that seemed made for twi- 
light rather than day. But the queerest 
thing of all was a skinny membrane 
stretching from the fore to the hind leg. 
This membrane was spread out and very 
much in evidence when the squirrels 
flopped down off their wheel into the 
bottom of the cage. When they at- 
tempted this feat they looked very 
much like bats. I named them Dick and 
Dixy and guarded them as I did my 
eyes. 



iFttt 2CJ|at iFleto i87 

During the daytime my pets were very 
quiet little bunches of gray fur. The 
bright light was evidently too much for 
their dreamy eyes, so they kept them 
closed against it, and put in the time 
sleeping. But when twilight came, all 
their natural frolicsomeness was let loose, 
and for an hour or two they would make 
the cage fairly hum with their capers and 
pranks. But they did not like such close 
quarters, and could not show off in the 
cage to any advantage. 

They were very fond of all kinds of 
nuts, especially peanuts. Corn and other 
grains were also to their liking, but when 
they could not get these they were quite 
content with a hard bread crust. 

When spring came and the birds and 
squirrels outside were rejoicing with song 
and chatter, it seemed so cruel to keep these 
two frolicsome creatures captive that I let 



188 JRtnantu of ti^e ^vttu 

them go into the maples that lined the 
roadway in front of the house. 

I opened the cage door at the foot of a 
tree and Dick shot up the trunk like a 
flash. Dixy was not long in following, 
and then they gave me as pretty an exhi- 
bition of their powers of flying as one 
could well wish. 

When nearly up to the top of the tree 
Dick ran out on a limb and sprang into 
the air, spreading his parachute as he fell. 
Down he came, as easily as a leaf, but 
much quicker. He struck upon the 
trunk of the next maple in the row, and 
almost before I had time to see how it 
was done was scurrying up the tree. He 
had barely alighted when Dixy came 
sailing after him, and she gave him a 
lively race to the top of the second tree. 

I noticed that always, just before they 
struck, the forefeet were deflected up. 





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DOWN HE CAME AS EASILY AS A LEAF." 



ffnv STijat iFletaJ i89 

This gave them a little upward motion 
and greatly broke the shock of the long 
swift slide from the top of one tree to the 
bottom of the next. 

Each time they struck I could hear the 
pat of their feet. It was for all the world 
like sliding down hill, and a great deal 
easier it seemed to me. The tree was the 
hill which they climbed each time they 
coasted. 

I watched them going from tree to 
tree until they were out of sight, and 
then heaved a deep sigh. They were 
gone, the deep woods would claim them, 
and I should see them no more. It was 
too bad. 

But this time I was mistaken, for the 
graycoats cared more for their friends in 
the farm-house than I had thought. 
They were gone for two or three days, 
but you can imagine my astonishment 



190 ^tnantn of tJje STtrrs 

one evening, just at dusk, to see them 
coming back, chasing each other along 
the maples just as they had gone. 

I got a generous supply of corn and 
placed it by the big maple in front of the 
house, and they repaid me for my kind- 
ness by making the tree their permanent 
home. The old maple was hollow near 
the top, and here they made their nest 
and rarely went further from home than 
the end of the row of trees. 

I was never tired of watching their 
twilight game of tag, but rarely saw them 
during the day unless I knocked on their 
front door. If one drummed on the 
trunk of the tree with a stick the squir- 
rels, who were quite curious, would al- 
ways poke their heads out of the hole at 
the top of the tree to see who was knock- 
ing. 

I used to call them out frequently this 



iFut ^fiat iFUto 191 

way to show them to the boys in the 
neighbourhood and it was the knowledge 
of this pecuHarity of the flyers that led to 
their undoing. 

In April or May Dixy became very 
shy and was rarely seen in the tree-tops. 
By midsummer she explained her stay-at- 
home habit, by bringing out a family of 
young squirrels and exhibiting them for 
our special benefit. They were not en- 
couraged to attempt flying until they were 
nearly grown, which was in the early 
autumn. Even then the cat got one un- 
fortunate youngster who missed his aim 
and struck upon the ground. He tried 
hard to get back into the tree, but the 
cat was much quicker on the ground than 
he. She was also too quick for me, and 
escaped under the house with her victim. 
There had been seven young squirrels in 
all and this left an even half dozen. 



192 srtnanti^ of tf^t ^vttu 

When the entire squirrel family were 
playing in the maples at twilight it was a 
lively scene. 

Just before Christmas, when the first 
snows had come, I went home for the 
holidays, and when I returned the gray- 
coats were all dead. They had been 
murdered in cold blood by a thoughtless 
boy with a new gun. 

He had happened by the house with 
his new fowling-piece. As the birds had 
nearly all gone south, and most of the 
squirrels were in their winter quarters, 
there was not much to shoot at, and his 
finger fairly ached to pull the trigger. 
At least this is the only excuse I can 
make for such a wanton act. In an evil 
moment he remembered the squirrel fam- 
ily that I had shown him in the big maple 
the summer before. Seeing that my 
grandfather and grandmother were gone 



iFttt Sttiat iFltto 193 

and the house locked up, he got a stone 
and drummed on the trunk of the tree. 

Hearing the knocking on his front 
door, and thinking that some one wished 
to see him, Dick ran to the opening and 
thrust out his head. " Bang,'' went the 
new gun and the father squirrel pitched 
out of the hole and fell at the boy's feet. 

He picked up the dead squirrel and 
examined him. What a beauty he was. 
What a daisy the gun must be to kill 
him at the first shot. So he threw the 
squirrel down and drummed on the tree 
again. 

Dixy was much surprised at the strange 
noise and the squirrel family had been 
greatly frightened. She also wondered 
where Dick had gone, so she ran to the 
hole and peeped out. " Bang," went the 
gun again and she fell at the feet of 
the young hunter. Both father and 



194 Em^niu of tf^t JEvtm 

mother were now dead, and the six young 
squirrels in the tree-top were orphans; 
but this was not all. 

Again the cruel hunter drummed on 
the tree and one of the youngsters poked 
out his head to see where father and 
mother had gone. "Bang" went the 
gun and the youngster joined his parents 
at the foot of the tree. 

" What sport it is," thought the young 
savage, and all the ferocity of the animal 
side of his nature was aroused. He did 
not stop to think that the squirrels were 
useless to him when he had killed them ; 
his thought was simply to Kill ! Kill ! 
Kill ! " Bang ! Bang ! Bang ! " went the 
gun, until the entire squirrel family of 
eight members lay dead in the snow. 
The old maple was empty and the nest in 
the hollow tree was desolate. 

The young savage then picked up the 



iFttt Siiat iFleto i95 

dead squirrels and threw them over the 
wall out of sight, for he knew that I was 
fond of them and he did not want his 
deed known. 

But " murder will out " and I found the 
squirrel family on my return and buried 
them in a little snow grave in the garden. 
My grief was too great for tears, but the 
wood nymph, — that gentle guardian of 
the wild things who watches the coming 
and going of the great moose and the 
tiny field-mouse, and who rejoices when 
they rejoice, and is pained when they are 
cold and hungry, — this sweet custodian 
of the wood folks must have wept bitter 
tears over that little snow grave in the 
garden. 

There is a belief among the wise people 
of the Orient that keeps them from such 
deeds as that of our thoughtless young 
hunter, and if we had something of their 



196 Emunt^ of tt^t ^vttu 

spirit, it would be well for our wild 
brothers. They believe each human be- 
ing lives to endure all the pain that he 
has caused other creatures to suffer. This 
is his punishment and the justice of the 
supreme judge. 

If the boy had thought that some day 
he might be a helpless squirrel in the 
tree-top, while the squirrel was a boy 
with a new gun eager to take his life, his 
finger would have paused ere it pressed 
the trigger. 



jFttentis in jEeetj 



f^ THERE'S a song on the fragrant breeze 

From every bird that sings. 
And the rapture of their melodies 
Through all the welkin rings. 

For 'tis to nest that the birds are here. 
In every breast is song. 
And each Troubadour to his lady dear. 
Is singing all day long. 



XIII 
FRIENDS IN NEED 

T TI 7HEN the fields were still bleak and 
^ ^ cheerless with the unbroken snow, 
and the skies were still dark from the 
scowl of winter ; bluebird, the sweet har- 
binger of spring, brought us the good 
tidings of great joy. 

In the same manner, when the old 
earth is naked and forsaken, and the tall 
trees, bereft of all their green gladness, 
stand shivering and complaining, certain 
sweet little heralds bring us the news of 
approaching winter. 

It may be a flock of twenty snow-birds, 
or only a solitary black-capped titmouse 
perched in the old apple-tree near the 
house, but either are reliable messen- 

199 



200 Ztn^ntn Df tJjt Zvttn 

gers, and both prophesy the first snow- 
fall. 

There is also a look in the sky, a feel- 
ing in the air, and a minor song in the 
tree-tops that make you turn up your 
coat collar and say, " Well, I guess you 
were right, little prophets. We will 
wait and see what the morning will 
bring." 

How chaste and pure is the first fall of 
snow. We dreaded its coming, but now 
it is here we are all glad. How it covers 
the naked scarred spots in the green- 
sward, until you would not know that the 
breast of nature bore a single wound. 

Before this snow came it seemed bit- 
terly cold and cheerless, but this warm 
white blanket has put all things right. 
Even the dead weeds, whose seared heads 
show above the spotless purity, look con- 
tented. There is lace-work upon every 



iFttenlTfis in Ketlr 201 

weed and bramble this morning ; all have 
been dressed in their winter robes. 

Let us put on our overshoes and be off 
to the deep woods, for there is always 
something doing in the forest after the 
first snowfall. 

Ah, here is the jaunty little fellow who 
told me yesterday that this was coming. 
He sits upon a twig with his head cocked 
upon one side, eyeing me in the most 
confidential manner. What a tasteful 
dress he wears. Could anything be more 
comfortable than that black cap on his 
little head ? How well his black necktie 
matches the cap, and his blue-gray over- 
coat is as neat and pretty as one could 
well wish. 

Who is this jaunty little friend who 
meets us at the very forest's edge with a 
welcome ? What is your name, little 
fellow? 



202 ^tnuntn of tfie tEvttu 

Clear as crystal comes the answer. 
" Chick-a-dee-dee. Why, don't you see, I 
am the herald of winter. Chick-a-dee- 
dee — Chick-a-dee-dee." 

Well done, little chap ; but I see you 
are not alone, for the woods are full of 
your mates, all pecking away on limbs 
and tree trunks and calling ** Chick-a- 
dee-dee '' in the blithest manner. 

Down in the bark of every tree in the 
forest as well as on its surface the borer 
and the bark louse are at work, and this 
army of pest hunters have come to the 
rescue. If the army of chickadees and 
creepers were to be exterminated our 
forests would soon suffer. 

Here is another busy little fellow, but 
he is not so tastefully dressed as chickadee. 

This is the nuthatch, perhaps the most 
remarkable of all the creepers. See him 
hang head-downward, while with his 




Here Comes a Flock of Snow-Bj 



iFtienirs in Nnir 203 

stout beak shaped very much like that of 
a small woodpecker he rattles down the 
bark. How excited he is getting. Look, 
there comes a long borer who has done 
the last of his destructive work. How 
this nuthatch in his gray-blue overcoat 
and his white necktie creeps over the 
bark, darting his sharp bill into every 
crack and crevice. He can walk straight 
up the trunk, or out sideways, or hang 
head down as we have seen. Always busy, 
always seeking a louse or a borer. 

Whir-r-r, whistle, flutter ; here come a 
flock of snow-birds. Junco is his real 
name. They have lighted in the snow, 
almost under your nose, but you can not 
see one of them. The snow blinds one, 
and they are so nearly white. Wait un- 
til they move, then you will see the gray 
upon their backs. There they go. Weed 
seeds were not plenty here, so they are 



204 Etnuntu of tfie Evttu 

off for another feeding ground. They are 
seed eaters and they save the farmer more 
weed pulling than he imagines. 

Later on in the winter, when it is 
colder, you will see other white birds in 
flocks. These are snow buntings, who 
have brought their greeting over thou- 
sands of miles of frozen ice and glittering 
snow, almost from the pole itself. You 
marvel, as the white forms flash by, how 
they could have come so far, for they are 
really as much a part of the polar fauna 
as the blue fox and the musk ox. 

Another more gaily dressed visitor from 
the frozen north who is occasionally seen 
during extremely cold winters is the pine 
grosbeak. He is a beautiful carmine and 
black fellow, about the size of the robin, 
but he only visits us during an extreme 
winter. A great many times when people 
say they have seen robins in midwinter. 



iFttenlrs in TSfeeti 205 

what they have really seen is the pine 
grosbeak. 

The thought that I would leave with 
you as you close these pages is this. 

If the winter is cold for you who are 
warmly cloaked and hooded, gloved and 
mittened, what must it be for the birds, 
who are scantily clad and unsheltered 
from the elements ? If you draw close 
to the fire and shiver on a winter's night 
when the winds bellow down the chim- 
ney, and the frost creeps high on the 
window-pane, what must it be for the 
chickadee and the snow-bird who are 
perching side by side in the cedar-tree 
near the house? The wind rocks the 
tree so that they can scarcely keep their 
perch ; the snow sifts in upon them, and 
the bitter cold bites their bare toes. 
When the piazza floor groans and cries 
aloud against the numbing frost as you 



206 ^tnuntu of tl^t ^vttu 

step upon it, what must it be for bare 
toes clinging to frost-covered limbs ? 

If you shiver in your warm bed with 
plenty of clothes piled upon you, and a 
soapstone at your feet, what think you of 
the quail and the partridge who make 
their bed this night in the snowbank, all 
unmindful of the fox who may dig them 
out and eat them before morning, or the 
sudden freeze that may lock them under 
the crust where they may die miserably 
of slow starvation ? 

If your own cosy parlour is cold during 
the great blizzard, how fares it with the 
jay and the crow who roost at night in 
the top of a hemlock in the deep woods 
where the trees are loaded with snow and 
gemmed with frost ? There the wind 
howls in the naked tree-tops like a thou- 
sand demons and the strong trees thrash 
their mighty arms and groan and shriek 



iFrientrfiJ in T^ttn 207 

for mercy, crying out against the ele- 
ments. 

A friend of mine while snow-shoeing 
in the woods near here noticed a black 
object under the crust at his feet. He 
kicked away the snow and pulled out a 
crow who was frozen stiff. He took off 
his snow-shoes and began digging, and in 
a space of twenty or thirty square feet 
uncovered nearly fifty crows, all dead like 
the first. 

They had plunged under the snow to 
keep warm on a winter's night, and to 
escape a blinding snowstorm. The snow 
had turned to rain, and this had frozen 
making a stiff crust, and the whole flock 
had perished. 

Within thirty feet of the window 
where I am writing, this very day crows 
have been shaking frozen pears from a tree 
and then lighting on the snow to eat a 



208 Ztnmitu of ttit tRvun 

cold meal. Their fear of man is great, 
but their fear of starvation is greater. 

A piece of pork rind or a bit of suet 
nailed to a conspicuous post or tree has 
saved many a chickadee or snow-bird 
from starvation. A handful of grain 
thrown upon the snow has sent many a 
flock of buntings on their way rejoicing, 
and it did not cost the giver a cent. 

A box of corn at the corner of the 
barn may keep alive the spark of life un- 
der the coat of some improvident squirrel 
whose winter store has run low. 

The crow and the jay will also find 
your bounty, and the sight of the blue- 
coated and black-frocked rogues is enough 
to repay one for his trouble. 

Besides, the corn and the golden grain 
are the bounty of the God of harvest who 
fashioned the jay and the squirrel and 
also the face of man after his own image. 



JfvlmXiu In TSTeeir 209 

All creatures he has given into our keep- 
ing, and the fear of man is upon all 
things. Let us show mercy and good 
will, for with what measure we mete 
kindness unto the lesser creatures, the 
same shall be meted unto us by the 
great Father. 

There is sweet companionship, too, in 
the confidence of these little friends who 
come pecking at our windows, and they 
will repay us with gleeful chirps and twit- 
ters and wise nods of their dainty little 
heads. 

Do you know the ruby kinglet, a mite 
of a bird only four or five inches in 
length ? Think of this little creature 
pitting his small wit and his smaller 
strength against midwinter and all its 
terrors, before which deer and elk and 
even the strong moose frequently suc- 
cumb. 



210 IS^tnunt^ of iftt ^vttu 

Then cast your bread upon the waters. 
The handful of grain and the pork rind 
mean so little to you and so much to the 
birds. It will save life that is a precious 
and holy thing. Let us be friends indeed 
to these little friends in need, and their 
companionship and confidence and dainty 
manners as they partake of our bounty 
will be its own rich reward. 



Wbt Wvtt ilotel 



All through the sultry hours of June, 
From morning blithe to golden noon, 

And till the star of evening climbs 
The gray-blue East, a world too soon 

There sings a Thrush amid the limes. 
^Mortimer Collins 



XIV 
THE BIRD HOTEL 

TCALL my home the Bird Hotel, because 
it serves in that capacity during the 
winter months. All along the south side of 
the house, both on the main house, and the 
ell, there is a tangle of vines winding in 
and out on trellises and behind the blinds. 
This whole expanse is a labyrinth of bird 
bedrooms. It is especially snug behind the 
blinds close to the house. 

Here of a winter's night, hundreds of 
my little feathered friends find free lodg- 
ings and a good supper at one of the feeding 
boxes, before they go to roost. At about 
four o'clock in the afternoon they will 
come scurrying across the snow-fields, fly- 
ing to the bird hotel. There are juncos, 
213 



214 Cenanw of t6e Crees 

ruby crested kinglets, nuthatches and spar- 
rows galore, all eager and as hungry as 
biting cold can make them. It is very 
pleasant to stand in my dining room close 
to the bird feeding boxes and hear the merry 
tattoo that their small beaks make on the 
bottom of the boxes. It sounds like a ver- 
itable April shower. The grain consists of 
very fine cracked corn, buckwheat, and 
millet and twenty-five cents' worth will 
feed a bird host for several days. There 
is some jostling and crowding in the boxes, 
but usually they get along very well to- 
gether. I suppose their hard lot breeds a 
sort of companionship or fellow-feeling, 
which makes them tolerant. 

The feeding boxes are nailed to the win- 
dow sills, and are high enough from the 
ground to be out of the reach of cats. 

When supper is over, there is a great 
scurrying among the vines to get the best 



C6e TBirD ^otel 215 

bedrooms. Some places are more sheltered 
and warmer than others and these wise little 
chaps are quick to discover which are the 
best. 

In behind the window blinds, you may 
hear them chirping and twittering as they 
settle themselves for the night. Soon each 
little head is tucked under a wing and all 
is quiet. 

Sometimes we go outside under the grape 
arbor, where there is thickest shelter, and 
look up into the tangle. It is very dark and 
still. Surely there are no birds sleeping 
there, but clap your hands loudly and see 
what will happen. 

Like a flash, dozens of little heads will 
come out from their hiding under warm 
wings and dozens of pairs of bright eyes 
will look down at you. Keep very still and, 
one by one, all these drowsy heads will soon 
be back under the wings again. 



216 Cenanw of tfte Ctee0 

Nearly all the winter birds are seed eat- 
ers and when the snows are deep, they often 
have a hard time of it. Then it is that 
your bounty will be most welcome. A 
little suet nailed to a tree, or a few hand- 
fuls of grain, have saved many a flock of 
winter birds. It did not cost the giver any 
effort and it saved life and beauty as well 
as property. 

It is impossible to estimate how much 
the birds help in keeping down the pests 
that infest trees and plants. Go into the 
forest some winter's morning after a light 
snow and see the army of chick-a-dees at 
work and you will understand what I mean. 
It is only since the song birds have become 
scarce that the tree pests have multiplied 
so freely. So if you will feed the winter 
birds and help them you will thereby help 
yourself. 



Wbt Jfurrp J^tropfiet 



All nature seems at work, slugs leave their 

lair — 
The bees are stirring — birds are on the 

wing — 
And Winter, slumbering in the open air, 
Wears on his smiling face a dream of 

spring! 

And I the while, the sole unbusy thing. 
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor 
sing. 

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge 



XV 
A FURRY PROPHET 

TT THEN I was a small boy and used to 
^ " pick cranberries on the cranberry 
bog, I was much more interested in the 
house on the marsh than I was in the berry- 
picking. So I would often leave my half- 
filled pail and steal away to see if I could 
get a glimpse of the shy little folks who 
lived in this house. When I was older I 
learned much about the muskrat house, for 
this was the dwelling of Mr. and Mrs. 
Muskrat, who are first cousins to Bill 
Beaver. That is why the muskrat is some- 
times called the little beaver. 

For its size there are few dwellings that 

contain so many inhabitants as does the 
219 



220 Cenanw of tfte Cteeft 

muskrat house. When the snows at last 
settle down upon it in the early winter it 
contains three distinct sizes of young musk- 
rats: there are the spring babies who are 
now nearly grown, the summer children 
who are half grown, and the autumn babies 
who are still quite small. 

There is sometimes still another litter to 
make room for. As there are eight or ten 
in a litter, the size of the muskrat family 
can well be imagined. The old woman who 
lived in a shoe would certainly have a fel- 
low feeling for Mrs. Muskrat. 

The phrase that one's family will eat him 
out of house and home is certainly true of 
the muskrat, for that is just what his family 
does. In the first place, the muskrat sees 
to it that every root and plant and grass 
fiber that goes into his house is edible. So 
this strange-looking house is both shelter 
and food. Thus it is that while the winter 



C6e JFuttp ptopfiet 221 

months go by the shrewd muskrat literally 
eats his house down over his head. First 
he attacks the thicker walls, eating away 
at the inside, until by the spring it is but 
a veritable shell. He builds well ; he means 
to have these wa:lls last until the ice begins 
to break up so that he can procure new 
food. 

This is why the muskrat is called a 
weather prophet. If the winter is to be 
hard and long, he makes his house larger, 
because he knows he will need more food. 

A farmer living on the Connecticut River 
early one morning discovered a muskrat 
neighbor swimming for an island in the 
middle of the river dragging a large 
tobacco plant after him in the water. Out 
of curiosity the farmer secured a boat and 
went over to the island where he found half 
a dozen plants of the same brand nicely 
worked into the cunning rat's house. So 



^.99 



CenantiB! of t&e Ctees 



for a part of that winter at least that musk- 
rat family had chewed tobacco! 

It is lucky for the muskrat family that 
there are plenty of them, otherwise guns 
and traps would soon make an end to an 
animal that makes such a brave showing at 
the furrier's. When dyed a rich, dark 
brown, he is known to the trade as 'Trench 
seal." The honor he claims of being the 
only member of his tribe to wear market- 
able fur makes him a marked animal. 



^oU) tfiePuU=fros#oti|t£(^mt 



What, is the jay more precious than the 

lark, 
Or is the adder better than the eel. 
Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
—William Shakespeare 



XVI 

HOW THE BULLFROG GOT 
HIS SUIT 

TT was a hot, sticky afternoon in August. 
It was very quiet in the old swamp. 
Occasionally a sleepy bullfrog croaked, but 
that was all. 

The darning needle flashed on glittering 
wings from swale to swale. 

He was always a source of fear and won- 
der to the children, because they partly be- 
lieved the legend that he could sew up 
their ears. No one had ever seen him do 
it, but that did not prove, anything. 

An old brown bullfrog sat on a log catch- 
ing flies. I say brown, because this was 
in the days before he got his gay suit from 
the frog tailor who lived by the frog-bush. 

A frog-catcher came stalking along the 
225 



226 Cenanw of tbe Crew 

edge of the swamp. I do not mean the 
blue heron, who is the real frog-catcher, 
but a man frog-catcher, with tall wading 
boots, and a fishpole in his hand. A line 
dangled from the pole, and at the end of 
the line was a bit of red rag. 

What was beneath the red rag the bull- 
frog did not know, but he soon found out. 

The frog-catcher dangled the red rag 
above the head of the frog. 

He at once stopped catching flies and 
watched the red object. Flies he could 
catch any time, but here was something new. 
The red made him very angry. He could 
not tell why. Perhaps it was because he 
was a bullfrog, and red always angers bulls. 
The longer he watched the red, the angrier 
he became. The fisherman could see him 
quivering with rage, so presently he drop- 
ped the bait down just above his nose. 

Mr. Bullfrog sprang, and at the same 



©oto tbt Igull^ftog (Sot m» Suit 227 

time the frog-catcher twitched on his pole. 
It was a close shave, but the hook only 
scratched the frog badly on the nose, and 
with a frightened croak he dove to the 
bottom of the ditch beside his log. He 
had seen all the red he wanted to for that 
day. 

When the frog-catcher had passed on to 
try his luck on the next foolish frog, Mr. 
Bullfrog came out on his log again. Here 
he sat for a long time rubbing his jaw and 
feeling very sore over his sad experience. 
Finally he thought of something that he 
had been long considering, and it caused 
him to forget his aching jaw. He had long 
been thinking of getting himself a new suit 
of. clothes. He was not at all satisfied with 
the styles that frogs were wearing that year. 
He would go to the frog tailor at once and 
have a new suit made. So he started on 
his journey, hopping along the banks of the 



228 Cenant0 of tfie Creeg 

ditch for a part of the way and swimming 
in the water whenever he espied danger. 

He soon found the frog tailor, a wise 
old grass frog, who lived by the frog bush 
at the edge of the swamp. 

*'Want a suit, want a suit," said the cus- 
tomer. 

The frog tailor winked slyly at a leopard 
frog whose gorgeous suit he was working 
on and croaked, ^What color, what color?" 

The bullfrog thought of the bright red 
something that had so infuriated him a few 
minutes ago by the old log. How fine it 
would be to make all the rest of the frogs 
angry every time he appeared, so he replied 
quickly, "Like red, like red. Make it red, 
make it red." 

The frog tailor stopped cutting the spot- 
ted leaf, from which he was making the 
leopard frog's coat and looked hard at the 
bullfrog. ^'Like red, like red," he mocked. 



l^otD tl)e ISuI^frog ©ot m» ©wit 229 

^Tretty good, pretty good. Ho, ho, ho, ho. 
Twon^t do. Twon't do." 

^Why not, why not?" asked the bullfrog 
angrily. The leopard frog was having a 
gay suit, and why not he? 

The frog tailor winked at the leopard frog 
and rubbed his own jaw slyly. ^'Got 
pricked, got pricked," he croaked. "Yes, I 
did, yes, I did. M'ade me mad, made me 
mad." 

The frog tailor looked at him sharply. 
"Too bad, too bad," he said. "No red, no 
red. Too bright. Man see. Want green, 
green coat, green pants. Hide you good, 
hide you good. No see, no see." 

The poor bullfrog's jaw was now aching 
so hard that he forgot the red suit. In 
fact he forgot everything but just the idea 
of "hiding him good" so the next frog- 
catcher could not see him. The pride had 
been all taken out of him by his sad expe- 



230 Cenants of tfte Cree« 

rience. *^A11 right, all right," he said. 
^^Make it green, make it green. Want it 
quick.'' 

The frog tailor was a very accommodat- 
ing old fellow and as the leopard frog 
agreed to wait for his own new coat, the 
tailor at once set to work. He got a very 
large pale green pond-lily leaf and spread 
it out before the bullfrog. ^'Just the thing, 
just the thing," he said. ^Won't see, won't 



see." 



Then he measured the bullfrog very care- 
fully, the size of his waist, the length of 
his arm, and the collar. "Set tight, set 
tight," he explained. 

He cut the coat very carefully according 
to the measurements, and then stitched it 
together with fiber from the thread plant. 
When he had finished the coat, Mr. Bull- 
frog tried it on and it fitted him like a 
glove. He dove into the water and then 



^oto tfie TSulMtPff ©ot ^f0 Suit 231 

came up slyly and sat beneath a lilypad, 
and his friends could not even discover him, 
the coat hid him so nicely. 

The frog tailor made the pants out of 
another large pond-lily leaf and Mr. Bull- 
frog was as proud as a peacock. 

"Now the vest, now the vest,'' said the 
frog tailor. 

Mr. Bullfrog looked wistfully at leopard 
frog's gay suit and a bit of pride asserted 
itself. "Want some color, want some col- 
or," he croaked sadly. 

The frog tailor was much perplexed. 
There were no bright colors in the frogs' 
suits that year, with the exception of the 
suit of leopard frog; he had always worn 
bright colors, for he was the frog dandy. 
The wood frog also was rather gay, but 
the bullfrog had never seen him because 
he lived in the woods, so that did not make 
him sad. 



232 Cenanw of tht Crees 

**Don't know, don't know," said the frog 
tailor, thoughtfully. Just as he spoke how- 
ever, a bright yellow leaf fluttered down 
before him. It was a soft-maple leaf that 
had turned early. ^^Just the thing, just the 
thing," he chuckled. He picked it up and 
held it up against the bullfrog's green coat. 

^'Matches nice, matches nice," he croaked, 
and he slapped the bullfrog soundly on the 
shoulder with his free hand. "Pretty good, 
pretty good." 

The bullfrog was all excitement while 
he was being measured for his vest, but it 
was finally finished and he slipped it on 
beneath his coat. Then the tailor sent him 
to look at himself in the frog looking glass. 
This was a pool of water which was very 
clear. The frog tailor did not ever allow 
the frogs to swim in it, for fear they would 
muddy it up, so his customers could not 
see themselves. 



©oto t&e TBulhttos <SPt mt Suit 233 

The bullfrog could hardly believe his 
eyes. He was so handsome he wanted to 
shout, but instead he only cried, *'I'm a 
dandy, I'm a dandy. I'm a swell, I'm a 
swell." 

He paid the frog tailor and then hurried 
away in his new suit. A bright idea had 
come into his head. He had long wanted 
a wife, but had looked so rusty in his old 
suit that he did not dare try his luck. Now 
it was different. He would see what he 
could do at once. So he went back to his 
fly-catching log and began calling, ^^Lady 
frog, lady frog. Come this way, come this 
way. Got a suit, got a suit. Want to 
marry, want to marry." So loudly and so 
long he called that finally a shy lady frog 
who had been watching him all the time 
beneath a lilypad came hopping out. 

"What's the noise? What's the noise?" 
she asked shyly. 



234 Cenants of tlje Ctee» 

^Want to marry. Want to marry," fairly 
shouted the bullfrog. ''Got a feller? 
Got a feller?" 

''Not a one, not a one," croaked the lady 
frog sadly. 

"Marry me, marry me," piped the ex- 
cited bullfrog swelling out his chest that 
his yellow vest might be plainly seen. 

"Guess I will. Yes, I will. I'm your 
girl. I'm your girl," replied the lady frog. 

So the bullfrog hopped down beside her 
and locked his arm through hers and they 
hopped away and were married by the frog 
preacher, the leaping frog who lived at the 
farther end of the swamp. 



Wiit Hong, Hong tECrail 



Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing! 
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of 

spring? 
— ^We come from the shores of the green 

old Nile, 
From the land where the roses of Sharon 

smile. 
From the palms that wave through the 

Indian sky, 
From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby." 
—Felicia Dorothea Hemans 



XVII 
THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 

rx^HE most mysterious event in all the 
-^ mysteries of nature is the migration 
of the birds. Ever since that memorable 
spring morning when I first beheld a flock 
of wild geese cleaving the hazy spring sky, 
this mystery has gripped me, and the won- 
der of it has grown with each succeeding 
year. 

Of course the migrations are governed 
by the changing seasons, and the birds are 
the keenest of weather prophets. They are 
most wonderful of mariners, as well. A 
pair of bluebirds had their nest in my pear 
tree for several years. We knew them to 
be the same pair because they were so fa- 
miliar with the place. Besides, we caught 
237 



238 Cenants of tl)e Creeg 

them at the same tricks year after year. 
How they found their way each spring 
across a dozen states back to old Massa- 
chusetts and to my back yard is the mystery. 

The wild geese winter in the lagoons and 
bayous of southern Louisiana and they make 
the trip to their summer breeding grounds 
in Canada with less trouble and in less 
time than our express trains could cover 
the same distance. It is hard to realize as 
this wonderful flying machine passes, each 
member in the platoon striking so strong 
and steadily, that they may have been flying 
all night and have covered six or eight hun- 
dred miles since they took wing. 

A pair of ruby-throated humming birds 
that come often to my piazza in the summer 
put over a migratory stunt which is still 
more wonderful. How such tiny birds can 
wing their way back to South America each 
autumn is a fact that always fills me with 



Cl)e ILong, Hong CtafI 239 

wonder when I hear them humming in the 
honeysuckle. 

The homing instinct of the pigeon and 
also of the seals and certain fishes, is a 
kindred wonder. Many interesting experi- 
ments have been made with pigeons by tak- 
ing them far out to sea and then releasing 
them. When set free, the wise little bird 
will circle about the ship until he gets his 
bearings. Then, straight as a sunbeam, he 
heads for the home loft. 

The seals which are born among the 
warmer islands along the Alaskan coast 
wander far to sea in the summer, but when 
the ice begins to close in again, they turn 
their noses northward and swim as straight 
as an arrow for the old rookery. In the 
same manner the salmon always return to 
spawn where they first slipped out of the 
egg. All fisherman will tell you similar 
tales of the herring, which, no matter how 



240 Cenanu of ttt Cteef 

far they may have wandered out to sea, 
find their way unerringly back to the old 
spawning ground when they have acquired 
their growth. 

There is a strong spiritual significance in 
all these things. They suggest most plainly 
the workings of a Power that shapes and 
governs all. I never hear the wild geese 
charging through the spring sky but I think 
of Bryant's lines from the ^Tlight of the 
Water Fowl'': 

"Whither, 'midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far through the rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way? 



And then that last immortal stanza which 
suggests so surely the deep, abiding faith of 
the poet: 

**He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky, thy certain flight, 
In the long way that I must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright." 



Sfie ^tibentures! of Cljippp 



The squirrel is happy, the squirrel is gay, 
He has nothing to do or to think of but play, 
And to jump from one bough to another. 
— Berna/RD Barton 



XVIII 
THE ADVENTURES OF CHIPPY 

TT was very still in the October forest. 
-■" So still it was that you could hear the 
beechnuts and the chestnuts falling one by 
one. If you had possessed very keen ears 
you might even have heard the bright maple 
leaves falling softly. 

Sometimes a jay squalled, or a crow sent 
forth his friendly call, but these were the 
only sounds. 

Chippy sat on his haunches at the foot 
of the old beech tree where he lived, listen- 
ing to the falling nuts. There had been a 
hard frost the night before, and the nuts 
were falling merrily. It was sweetest 
music to his ears. Nuts were breakfast, 
243 



244 Cenants of tU Cteeg 

dinner and supper to him, so he was very 
glad. 

Not only did these falling nuts mean 
present food for him, but also plenty in the 
winter when the snow was deep. He was 
a very prudent little chap so all day long 
he had been gathering the nuts and storing 
them away in his pantry. He was much 
wiser than his cousin the red squirrel, who 
scattered his store about so freely that he 
often forgot where he had placed it and so 
went hungry in the winter. 

Chippy was a very pretty little fellow, 
I presume you have guessed that he was a 
chipmunk. His coat was reddish brown, 
with three stripes running the whole length 
of his body. The two outer stripes were 
black, and the middle one was yellow. 
His brush was much smaller than that of 
the red squirrel, but he was smaller him- 
self, so he did not need so large a brush. 



C6e aotjentures of Cftipp? 245 

His face was curious and friendly, his 
eyes were bright, and he greeted you with 
a gleeful ^'chip, chip, chip/' so that is why 
I call him Chippy. 

His wife was inside their roomy house 
beneath the roots of the old beechnut tree 
rearranging their store of nuts. She did 
not think Chippy had packed them away 
quite right. 

Chippy was so busy with his pleasant 
thoughts that he did not see the great red- 
tailed hawk sailing slowly around above 
the woods. He did not know that the keen 
eyes of the great bird were hungrily scan- 
ning every open place in the woods, looking 
for squirrels or birds. Presently the hawk 
spied the little fellow and swooped. He 
came down like a falling star. Luckily 
for Chippy the hawk covered up the sun 
in his downward flight, and so cast a shadow 
over the squirrel when he was just above 



246 Cenantj of t6e Crees 

him. Quick as a flash Chippy glanced up. 
The great bird had almost reached him, and 
with a frightened squeak he darted into 
his hole. So quickly he went that you could 
have seen only a brown streak. You could 
not even have told where he went. The 
hawk sailed away with his talons full of 
moss and dirt instead of squirrel. 

When Chippy told his wife of his narrow 
escape she said he was a careless squirrel 
and ought not to be such a dreamer. But 
she was glad he had escaped, and gave him 
twice as many nuts as usual for supper. 

The following day Mrs. Chipmunk was 
still very busy arranging their winter store. 
This made her cross and she told Chippy to 
go away and not bother her or she might 
box his ears, so he went outside and looked 
around. 

It was a fine day. The sun was bright, 
the wind was sweet, and he was very glad, 



C6e antjentuteg of ClJippp 247 

so he decided to go on a short journey. 
When he told his wife he was going she 
said to go along and not bother her, so he 
went gleefully. 

He travelled along an old rail fence. 
Chipmunks always like to travel on a fence 
wall. He ran upon the bottom rail so that 
he might be near the ground. There were 
nice hiding-places around the postholes. 

He would dart from post to post watch- 
ing carefully to see that there was no danger 
in sight. 

Presently the old fence stopped and in 
its place there was a stone wall. Chippy 
did not like this as well to run upon as he 
did the fence. He had to run on the top of 
the wall, where he could be easily seen, 
but there were many small holes in which 
to hide, so he was not much afraid. 

He was just wondering if he had gone 
far enough for that day, when he came to 



248 Cenantg of tfie Cteej 

a cute little house on top of the wall. It 
looked just as though it was made for a 
squirrel. He went nearly around it before 
he found the door. But when he looked 
inside, he saw a fine ear of corn at the 
further end of the house ; then he felt quite 
sure that the house was made for him. 

He had not eaten any corn for a long 
time, so he scurried in eagerly. 

Just as he was about to reach for the 
ear, something seemed to whisper to him, 
"Don't touch it, Don't touch it." He 
listened to see if he could hear the voice 
again. It was very still and he could hear 
nothing, so he reached up and gave a strong 
pull on the corn. 

There was a loud bang, which made him 
jump and say "Chip, chip, chip." 

It had suddenly grown very dark. He 
had never known night to come so quickly. 
He turned about to see what was the matter 



Cfie aotientures of Cl)ippp 249 

and saw that the door was shut. He ran 
around and around to find the door, but 
it was closed tight. Poor little Chippy had 
never heard of a box trap, but now he was 
caught in one. 

At first he was not much frightened. He 
thought that after a time the door would 
open, or he might find another. It had 
been very easy to come in, so it would prob- 
ably be easy to get out. So he ate all the 
corn he could and then stowed some away 
in his pouches, which are in his cheeks. 
This made him look as though he had the 
mumps. Then he set to work to get out, 
but do what he would, he could find no 
way out. He became terribly frightened 
and sat down to think. 

But the more he thought, the more fright- 
ened he became, so he began running about 
the ugly little house again. But that did no 
good. He became very much discouraged. 



250 Cenantg of tbt Ctee« 

He might never see his chipmunk wife 
aga'in. What a sad adventure it had been. 

Bye and bye he heard a voice. Some one 
w^as coming. He kept very still. 

Perhaps v^hoever it v^as v^ould go away 
and not see him. But the voice came close 
to the trap. The door was opened a very 
little and he saw two eyes peeping in at 
him. Then he heard excited voices of boys 
crying, ' WeVe caught a chipmunk. WeVe 
caught a chipmunk." 

He knew they were children's voices, for 
he had often watched the children when 
they came to the forest for nuts. They 
sometimes spent half an afternoon under 
Chippy's old beech tree. 

Soon one of the boys lifted the trap on 
his shoulder and Chippy felt himself being 
carried rapidly away. Then he was still 
more frightened. 

When the boys reached their house, they 



Cl)e aa^entuteg of €tivvv 251 

set the trap down on the kitchen floor and 
brought the squirrel cage from the attic. 
They had not kept a squirrel for a long 
time. 

Soon Chippy saw the door of the trap 
slowly lifting. They were going to let him 
go after all. How glad he was. When the 
door was high enough, he ran out with a 
glad "Chip, chip." But he was much dis- 
appointed, for he had run from the trap 
into the cage. The cage was much lighter 
than the trap. He could look all about 
him, but he did not feel as secure as he had 
in the trap, for a lot of children were watch- 
ing him, and shouting, "O see him. Look 
at his funny little tail. See his stripes. 
How bright his eyes are!" 

They pointed and shouted and laughed 
until they frightened Chippy nearly to 
death. Finally their mother told them to 
be quiet and not scare the poor little fellow. 



252 Cenantt of tfte Cteeg 

They were very good to him in a way, 
for they gave him plenty of corn and buck- 
wheat to elt. But he was quite miserable, he 
missed the forest. He wanted to run in the 
leaves and hear them rustle. He wanted a 
beechnut, but most of all he wanted to see 
Browny, his chipmunk wife. 

So Chippy lived in the house with the 
people for three days — three long, miser- 
able days. The one thing that he loVed 
the cage for, was that it did not let the 
family cat get at him. He would often see 
this monster who frightened him so sitting 
on a rug looking at him eagerly. He even 
thought that the cat was sharpening his 
claws, so they would hurt when he got at 
him. 

One night when he was more miserable 
than ever, the boys came in again bringing 
the box trap. 

To Chippy's surprise they lifted the cage 



Cl)e antjentureg of Cljippp 253 

down on the floor and set it close up to the 
trap. Then they opened the door of the 
cage, and lifted the door of the trap and 
with a frightened chip, Browny, Chippy's 
own chipmunk wife ran into the cage. 

Chippy was so glad to see her that he 
did not even think to ask her how she had 
coma When they had visited and told 
each other how lonesome they had been, 
Browny told him how she had gone after 
him along the fence, and then she had fol- 
lowed the wall, and been caught in the 
trap just as he had been. 

"Never mind,'' chipped Chippy, *Ve 
wion't stay here long. I have found a place 
in one corner where I can lift this hard stuff 
up and get at the wood. We will soon be 



out." 



The cage was lined with tin, but the 
smart chipmunk had discovered its weak 
spot. 



254 Cenantg of tfte Crees 

For two days they were very good little 
squirrels and the children did not even 
dream that they were making plans to es- 
cape. But the third night everything hap- 
pened just right. The cat whom they so 
feared had gone to the barn to hunt mice. 
The people had all gone to bed and they 
had left one of the kitchen windows up. 

Chippy lifted up the tin in the corner 
of the cage and began gnawing frantically 
at the soft wood beneath. When he was 
tired Browny took her turn. They worked 
away so eagerly that they had soon made a 
hold in the floor of the cage large enough 
for a squirrel to get through. 

When all was ready they took one fright- 
ened look about the kitchen to see that the 
cat had not returned. All was very still, 
so they slipped through the hole in the 
bottom of the cage. When they were out 



C6e aotjentuteg of €bmv ^55 

on the bureau, they climbed down to the 
floor and then up on the window sill. Then 
in a flash they were out of. the window and 
running for the forest. 

They had never run as fast before as they 
did this night. It had never been such 
fun to run before. The night was very 
sweet to them, and their hearts were glad. 

In the morning when the children awoke 
and found that the squirrels had escaped, 
they felt very badly for awhile, but their 
father told them that the forest was the 
place for squirrels. He said they would 
have died if they had been kept in the cage 
too long. So they were comforted over the 
loss of their pets. 

If the children were soon glad that the 
squirrels had their freedom again. Chippy 
and Browny were a hundred times more 
pleased* They spent nearly the whole day 



256 Cenants of tjbe Cteet 

playing tag under the beechnut tree. When 
they were tired of tag they worked storing 
up nuts. 

Something told them that the winter 
would be long, and they would need lots of 
nuts. I am sure they were the happiest 
pair of squirrels in the whole forest that day 
as they played and worked under the old 
beech tree. 



THE. END 



r 



mmmm 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




